From The Mind Of Author Steven Clark Bradley

Patriot Acts - A Mesmerizing Thriller!

2009-06-15T00:11:34+02:00

A Mesmerizing Thriller!

June 13, 2009

Geraldine Ahearn "Author Geri Ahearn" (Phoenix, AZ)

How can America ever forget what happened on September 11, 2001? A horror that's better known as 9-1-1, and a nightmare that shocked all Americans, a disaster that should have never occurred.

Steven Clark Bradley's "PATRIOT ACTS" comes to life, and is as scary as the same day I witnessed the tragedy of the burning towers. He creates a picture-perfect image of terrorism, and brings it to life in his adrenaline-pumping story of a nuclear attack after visiting thirty-four countries, and expertise on working as a freelance journalist.

_________________________________
"As intense as "ARLINGTON ROAD"
where your paranoia
can become real" _________________________________

I recommend this novel to all those interested to learn about terrorism, for military fiction fans, and all thriller lovers. The reader is able to dive into the dangerous mind of a terrorist, learning what motivates such a person, and why this person can become a walking time bomb. This novel leaves an aftermath behind, without a doubt and the readers will indeed keep thinking about the War on Terror, long after they close the book. For added touches, the author cleverly demonstrates what it feels like to live through a national crisis, and the reader can sense the fear through this remarkable story. "PATRIOT ACTS" is as intense as "ARLINGTON ROAD" where your paranoia can become real, and is as mesmerizing as "WORLD TRADE CENTER."

Geraldine Ahearn

_________________________________________________________________________

Steven Clark Bradley has been to or lived in 34 countries, including Pakistan, Iraq and Turkey. He has a master's degree in liberal studies from Indiana University. He speaks French and Turkish. He has been an assistant to a prosecutor, a university instructor and a freelance journalist.

Patriot Acts The Republic of Iran has linked up with radical American Militia groups to carry out a covert nuclear attack on America. Colonel Fisher Harrison, the best trained Special Ops killer the military has, is the one person who can effectively retaliate against these adversaries. But Colonel Fisher Harrison was framed for a murder he did not commit by his former boss--now the President of the United States of America. The two adversaries must put aside their differences and unite to stop those in league to bring America to its knees.

Patriot Acts (Extended)

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Part Three Brothers at War - Inside Ramallah

2009-04-08T23:28:54+02:00

Part Three Brothers at War - Inside Ramallah

"Only the dead have seen an end of war." Plato

I struggle with just how to paint the picture, which is permanently imprinted in my mind of the fractured society that Middle-East wars have created. I can also never forget writing the final chapters of Nimrod Rising. That was the other time that such a feeling of inadequacy had come over me, until I finally conjured up the appropriate images and then it flowed out of me.

Depicting the great and final battle of Armageddon and the utter destruction that will result is a humbling and heart-rending mission. Now, there I was, right where the bowl of vicious evil will be filled and where the final clash shall be fought. I was standing on the very ground and writing this expose. These three articles will give you a taste of this very profound novel, Nimrod Rising. These ancient societies have come to our day and the long waited battle shall follow suit. This is as real as it gets.

Waiting to enter Ramallah at the Qualandiya checkpoint told me that I was very much alive. War was all around me, at least the remains of a war that had taken a breather, giving me time to get in and to get back out. Yet, walking up to a soldier in full battlefield gear without being nervous is impossible. I found that the best approach was complete honesty. When my turn came, I produced my passport with a picture that no longer looked like me to the soldier standing guard at the Qualandiya checkpoint. It looked official enough, I thought. I turned out to be right and entered without difficulty. I entered the city of Ramallah wondering if all the humiliation was needed. I concluded that is was.

I love the Jewish people and I believe I let them know that. They are an amazing people with some of the greatest minds in history, to their credit. They have taken the desert and made it to blossom. Still, what I would soon see inside Ramallah would have a big impact on me. There could be no accurate recounting of the situation without seeing the other side of the story. It would teach me how rich in culture and life both the Jews and the Palestinians are. By the time Mr. Toubassi arrived, I was very happy to ride rather than walk in the embattled streets of Ramallah, with live fire all around us.

Ramallah is by no means small nor insignificant. Before the founding of the State of Israel, the British had used this teaming city as a resort during their rule, because of its moderate temperatures. Today, it is a teeming city, with sections which lay in complete ruins. I started my journey at about 10:00 AM. I had made a good contact with the President of the Palestinian Journalists Syndicate, Mr. Naim Toubassi. He was not sure that I would make it through the checkpoint at Qualandiya, but if I could, he promised to meet me, when I arrived. I did not know Mr. Toubassi, but I was assured that he was a reliable man. That statement turned out to be completely true.

Journalism is a very dangerous profession for Palestinians, in the occupied territories. Mr. Toubassi, himself, has paid a price for his love of his people. He has spent as much as seventeen months in jail without charges for his role in reporting the incursions into the West Bank in three of his newspapers. Once he was released for one day and night and was rearrested the next day. He has preached peace and an end to the suicide bombings, but his pleas have fallen on deaf ears, due to the continued intransigence of the Israeli government, according to Mr. Toubassi. He pointed out that his credibility is threatened and he feared that the violence will only increase as his fellow Palestinians see no reason to push for a peace that they feel offers them nothing but the same.

Mr. Toubassi pointed out to me that fourteen Palestinian journalists had been killed and over 70 wounded by Israeli forces. In addition, nine journalists are still held in detention by Israel's military. Shimon Peres himself has stated that war does not mean only a rifle and a gun, but also a camera. We were given evidence of this statement when we visited the bombed out headquarters of the Palestinian Broadcasting Company. During the massive incursion in Ramallah, the Israel army had systematically placed dynamite throughout the building and blew it up along with all the equipment, which had been purchased with American and United Nations' funds. It seemed a bit like killing a bug with a sledge hammer, but Israel's justification was that such media sources only encouraged and glorified the suicide attackers and their families as heroes of the Palestinian cause. One Palestinian reporter asked me, "How do you feel about having your American tax dollars to fund such death and destruction." He was making reference to the two billion dollars in American funds sent to Israel for their defense. The same argument is used by Jewish citizens of Israel that the funds handed over to Arafat by the Clinton and Bush administrations after Oslo to build a security force have allegedly been used to purchase explosives for the attacks that have rocked Israel's civilian population.

As I sat down for lunch with Mr. Toubassi, I spoke little and listened a lot. His words were profound and pertinent. "Who is the power holder in this region? It is certainly not the Palestinians. It is Israel who has the soldiers, the tanks, the Apache helicopters and the bomb itself. What have we got? Our people have the guns the Israelis gave us after Oslo which are small. We have our rocks and our bodies. When a young boy here has lost his mother, father and his brothers and sisters, what does he have left to do? He feels he has no reason to live and he wishes to give back to his family's killers what they had given to him, so he blows himself up. America and Israel tells us to arrest our terrorists, but the jails are all destroyed so where will we put them? Give us our land and we will rebuild our security and the bombing will stop. Everyone knows, except America and Israel that peace under these terms is the only thing that will work. I promise you that then we will live side by side and have a mutually beneficial relationship. Until then, our calls for an end to the bombing will fall on deaf ears."

To say the least, this region is at the point of change, simply by virtue of the fact that no society can maintain such dire conditions indefinitely. Either the troubled area of the world will find a negotiating posture that both sides can agree to or violence will only increase and a complete obliteration of both sides will result. America has stepped up its role as an honest broker that appears to be trying to find a process which sees the causes and reasons for the violence on both sides.

The truth of the matter that I have been able to ascertain is that the despair and dire lack of hope of the Palestinians cries out on every street. It is not enough to state that this land belongs to Israel. Both groups of people are out of options. There are no resources or political contacts that have sufficiently revealed that the only solution truly is peace. Perhaps what type of peace and how to achieve it is still up for grabs, but there have not been enough serious exchanges that could ever hope to lead anywhere accept to more hatred, more bombing of innocent lives and more death on both sides. It seems clear that the time has come to call the bluff of the leaders of both sides and to see if it is peace or power that is truly desired by either side. Politics is by nature a self-serving affair. The only way to reveal the motives of the two enemies is by challenging both sides to sacrifice and make room for new leadership. The fact is that who ever becomes the next leader of the Palestinians will have to take the terrorist factions by their throats and crush them. Otherwise, any future leader will remain hostage to groups that cannot even fathom any future Palestinian state next to a State of Israel. Constitutions and political and judicial institutions will be of no effect and any leader will have no power to rule if they are not reigned in. It is only logical that if a new, democratic state can be achieved, the first threat to peace will be Hamas, Fatah, Islamic Jihad, Hezbollah, The Allah Aksa Martyrs Brigade and any of the various other splinter groups of which Hezbollah is armed to the teeth by Iran which exercises far wider influence in Middle-East violence than anyone cares to admit.

This became evident just over one year ago when the world was shocked by Hezbollah's ability to unceasingly lob their missiles into Israel. A future Palestinian leader will likely face a greater threat to regional peace from groups such as these which come from his own people than from Israel. Hamas has only lately made that clear. Indeed, it will be vital for a new Palestinian government to immediately develop strong relations with the State of Israel. In fact, to accomplish what will be needed to establish a viable, legitimate Palestinian State it will be vital that the terrorist groups be forced to turn on any newly elected government that was installed by the people of Palestine. This will break their public support. Money, guns and bombs cannot long live when the will of the people has been repudiated. If a new leader is willing to do the required tasks to rule, then it would not even be inconceivable to see Palestinian and Israeli troops fighting together to weed out the terrorist culture out of the Middle East. Such a situation would be mutually beneficial to both sides of the present conflict. Yet, it would be naive to expect such a direct demand by President Bush to be accepted at face value. It was clear to me that a large percent of Palestinians desire different leadership and peace and cooperation with Israel.

Never has the peacemaking role been so vital and never will there be another opportunity such as now. Hamas and Fatah are in a war of their own now. At the first bombing I witnessed in Israel, I spent a good deal of time taking it all in. I found it impossible to absorb entirely. A great feeling of guilt came over me and I did not want to take pictures, but their stories had to be told. When I was making my way out of the scene a long black bearded Jewish man came up to me. He had refused to cry, but his eyes were reddened. "We should have pushed them all out a long time ago. It is not that I hate Arabs or Palestinians, specifically, but Israel is for the Jew." The problem is that the day of Peres and the day of Prime Minister Sharon are over and there seems to be a leadership gap now in the Jewish state. The current leadership seems not to know that there will be no peace until they get rid of the killers? That is not so surprising since the world’s only super power has also missed the boat in that regard.

The Palestinian People and their Culture

A prayer for the State of Israel

Nobody can rightly say that Israel is unjustified in defending its citizens from the indiscriminate murder of its children and families. Christ said that anyone who harms a child would have a great millstone placed around their necks and be cast into the deepest sea. If this is the case, neither side will be able to escape judgment. Both are guilty of a lack of mercy and a sense of justice. Nevertheless, these two peoples are at war. It is a gang war of sorts and ground zero of the clash of personalities. What I saw and experienced in the home of the Intifada and in the middle of the Promised Land were these two peoples, both brothers, both with the same blood from the same father coursing through their veins and they are both deserving of a time of peace and hopeful of a future standing down and a cease to the hostilities. The world now waits to see if peace is truly desired or achievable in this sacred land. No one is sure of what President Obama truly desires to do in the Middle east today. He has been letting his goals disseminate piecemeal. What is sure is that in the future, once again stained with blood that runs in the veins of two peoples who are more alike than they would care to admit will again flow in the streets of the Holy Land, and it is understandable, they are brothers at war.

Steven Clark Bradley lived abroad for over 17 years and has been to 34 countries, including Pakistan, Iraq and Turkey. Hehas a master's degree in liberal studies from Indiana University. He speaks French and Turkish. He has been an assistant to a prosecutor, a university instructor and a freelance journalist in Ramallah, Palistine, Israel, Turkey, Iraq and Pakistan. Steven is the author of threenovels, Nimrod Rising, Probable Cause and Stillborn!

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Part Two Brothers at War - The Heartlessness of Terrorism

2009-03-29T01:12:34+01:00

Steven Clark Bradley, Author of the hard-hitting novels, Patriot Acts & Nimrod Rising, presents Part Two of his expose on the conflict in the State of Israel, which he witnessed firsthand. The current conflict and the ultimate events of this war between the Jews and the Palestinians is a major theme of Nimrod Rising. Read and learn about the experiences that led Mr. Bradley to write these very important novels. With America confronted with a severe economic crisis, surrounded by potential enemies with a White House sending America into territory that may well change her fundamentally forever, with Iran ready to set the world ablaze and ready to embark on a nuclear strategy, it behooves us to know what is happening in some of the most entrenched hot spots in the world. Israel and the Palestinian Authority certainly rank near the top of that list. Read Part Two Brothers at War - The Heartlessness of Terrorism and ask yourself if peace is even possible.

Part Two Brothers at War - The Heartlessness of Terrorism

The morning was as sunny and hot as the evening was cool and breezy, but the day started and the other ended the same way, with death. I had risen at 7:30 AM and went to contribute to my caffeine addiction. Though I found no coffee, at around 8:15 AM, no less than 15 minutes later, I saw ambulances and police vehicles racing down King David Street towards Gilo, on the road to Bethlehem. I had planned to go to Bethlehem at 11:00Am. I ran into the King David Hotel and learned of the deadly bus bombing that had just killed seven children and 12 adults. So, I hailed down a taxi and headed towards bedlam.

The sight was so much more devastating to see in person than anything one might see on TV. There was a certain charred smell in the air, and I knew what it was. It was hard to think that the blasted out bus was the scene where nineteen innocent souls who were destroyed, amongst whom were seven children had had their young lives cut short. It made me feel guilty to take pictures, but their story had to be told. They had awaken that morning and died before the afternoon in this attack which would prove to be the worst attack in Jerusalem in 40 years. Though I was refused entry at first into the scene, I was finally able to enter in from the left side of the blocked off crime scene. Bits of personal effects and clothing items were strewn everywhere. It all brought crashing home to me that so many had suffered so terribly right there.

The day after the terrible carnage of the suicide blast had left an indelible image burned into my mind, I spent a lot of energy and time trying absorb and understand the thoughts and emotions that flooded my mind. I was in Israel to write objectively and to explain both sides, but my angry and saddened mind kept telling me how much I hated the other side. I have four children. I have a family. I want them to outlive me! Such thoughts coursed through me and I had to get them into some type of perverse perspective in order to accomplish my task. So my whole morning was a day of trying to take in what I had seen the day before. There was a report that two bombers were in the new city. One was gone and the last one was a reportedly still out there. The population seemed convinced there would be a second bombing, soon. They proved how well the people of Israel had refined their sense of danger.

I was seated in the Rosemary café on King David Street for a bite to eat when I heard it all over again. The wailing sirens gave evidence all around that the angels of death and war had stuck again in the city of David. We got to the scene on the Northeast side of Jerusalem, which was almost in the West Bank, and I managed to get up close to the bus stop where the bomber had taken out his hatred on those who had never given him a reason to hate them. I saw a black colored vinyl bag on the ground next to the bus stop, and I did not have to ask what it was. Seven victims were claimed there. Ultimately, seven died in this blast and over two dozen were injured. When I was finally ordered out of the area, I walked past a soldier who was dressed in full fatigues and heavily armed. It was seriously and powerfully moving to witness such a toughened up man with tears flowing from his eyes. It was sure that this attack would not go unpunished. Two times in two days was unusual.
Is This Really The World You Knew As A Child?

I find it impossible to fathom how someone could be so out of hope and so full of hate that they could deliver death to such small and completely blameless victims. One soldier pleaded with me, "How can the people ever trust anyone again. Once they have killed your children, who is to be trusted?" This soldier's worn and bitter shoes, I did not want to wear.
In fact, children from both sides have been brutally killed. Children from both sides are growing up to hate each other and to distrust everyone around them. The only difference is that the Israeli children still have a solid family structure intact and a government to give them slightly more than a semblance of normality. The same cannot be said for Palestinian kids who have had all their security torn away from them, partly by Israel but also by their own leaders who have taken their people down the road of terrorism and death. Both sides love their children; both sides want the best for their children and both sides must do more to save their children, both physically and emotionally.

A part of humanity's future dies with each one that perishes, Jewish or Arab and new seeds of hatred take root with each blast. There could be no greater reason to find peace than to save the children. Though I had already begun to understand the Palestinian situation better, seeing these blasts only brought more resolve to me that there is no justification for such a crime against humanity and that such attacks only hurt the Palestinians' hopes. I had to get inside the Palestinians' heads to understand what could motivate them to do such acts.

In talking to many Palestinians about the deadly phenomenon of suicide bombing, I think I found the deadly recipe. As one Palestinian man at the Old city of Jerusalem put it, "How can we be equal partners or even equitable as adversaries with Israel? We do not have tanks or planes. The peace Israel wants makes us conquered, not liberated. When a man or woman has had their mother and father, perhaps her husband and children were destroyed by an invading nation, what have they left? They cannot work, go to school nor feed themselves. One can subsist in America. You have the laws and the institutions to help the sick and the hungry. On a good day in the West Bank, we are at subsistence level. When you get to the point when survival is worse than death, all you have left is your God, your stones and your body." Take this scenario and combine it with hatred and revenge and you have just produced a suicide bomber. I knew I would have to go to the West bank.

Probably the best thing that happened in Jerusalem was meeting two freelance journalists, Gregory Harms and Vicram Sura. We decided to work together on a trip to the West Bank. We planned the short trip to Ramallah and argued the finer points of the Palestinian issue. During the day I met the General Secretary of the Federation of International Journalists, Aidan White. He had just returned from the Gaza and was going to Ramallah. He gave me his card. The same evening, I contacted Mr. White and found him to be very helpful. He gave us the number of the President of the Palestinian Journalist Syndicate, Mr. Naim Toubasi. Having had the opportunity of meeting Mr. Aidan White and Naim Toubasi made all the difference in the journey, which followed.

Are You Ready For Nimrod Rising?

There were normally many of the small cramped minivans or shurups heading to Ramallah, but not this morning. There was nothing except taxis. The border had just been closed, which was a tale-tale sign that something was in the works for the Israeli army. We knew we still had a small window of opportunity to get into Ramallah and we at least had to try, though there were no guarantees about getting back out. Though we had never met Mr. Toubasi, he had said he would meet us, and he was our only hope to get a true picture of what had been the fate of Ramallah. We all three piled into a taxi and headed to the former western border of Jordan, now called the West Bank.

The ride to the capital of the Palestinian authority caused me to pay attention to my surroundings. I had already been to Iraq twice and I knew what that feeling in the pit of your stomach was all about. It told you that you had temporarily left your sphere of normality and security and that you were not quite sure of what could ensue and that my need to know had overtaken my requirement of safety.

The valleys of the Holy Land are breathtaking. They were the hosts of many biblical wars. The valley of Megiddo still waits for the final bloodletting at Armageddon. As we past in the taxi toward the Qualandiya checkpoint, the valley to my left changed quickly. In the valleys of Israel, you can see growing affluence and a stubborn insistence on truly possessing what the Jews regard as their biblical birthright. This is the amazing thing, considering that the Jewish state has been virtually at war since before the founding of the nation. I could tell that when we had left Israel and were in the West Bank. The buildings began to look older and there began to be signs of destruction and desertedness everywhere. Suddenly, we were out of the urban area of Jerusalem and in front of us was a line of Palestinians, lined up to cross over the massive checkpoint to their jobs and hopefully back to their families in the evening.

Though the Palestinians wait at this massive checkpoint without violence, as they seek to carry on their daily lives by enduring what they regard as humiliation, the deep-seated hatred and anger of the men and women as they dealt with overheated and crying children was pervasive. There are no accommodations for women and children, an idea which seemed far too thoughtful and merciful according to the Jewish soldiers I talked to. After about one hour, I finally was able to pass. I immediately was confronted with the ravages of a war of incursion by the Israelis responding to attacks of Palestinian suicide bombers on the lives of the innocents in Israel. Buildings were demolished all around me with snipers having been spotted and heard from the hillside homes on my left and right. The sun was hot and shots were fired and we stood out in the midst of the war between Isaac and Ishmael.

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Part Two Brothers at War - The Heartlessness of Terrorism

2009-03-29T01:04:38+01:00

Part Two Brothers at War - The Heartlessness of Terrorism

The morning was as sunny and hot as the evening was cool and breezy, but the day started and the other ended the same way, with death. I had risen at 7:30 AM and went to contribute to my caffeine addiction. Though I found no coffee, at around 8:15 AM, no less than 15 minutes later, I saw ambulances and police vehicles racing down King David Street towards Gilo, on the road to Bethlehem. I had planned to go to Bethlehem at 11:00Am. I ran into the King David Hotel and learned of the deadly bus bombing that had just killed seven children and 12 adults. So, I hailed down a taxi and headed towards bedlam.

Are You Ready For Nimrod Rising?

Want to read the rest of Nimrod Rising? Get your copy by clicking one of the links listed below:

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Here are some links to your websites where visitors can read more about Author Steven Clark Bradley, and his writing?

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Part One: Brothers at War A First-Hand View of Jacob's Trouble

2009-03-21T22:07:18+01:00

Steven Clark Bradley, Author of Patriot Acts, Nimrod Rising, Stillborn and Probable Cause is a world-wide traveler who has been to 34 countries. Here is Part One of his three-part series "Brothers At War" which he wrote concerning the constant conflict facing the tiny but powerful State of Israel. One of the huge themes in Steven Clark Bradley's novel, Nimrod Rising, is the series of events that lead up to the final culmination of world war in Israel known as Armageddon. Read part one of "Brothers at War" and learn about the author, Steven Clark Bradley and his experience that led him to write the powerful novel Nimrod Rising.

Part One: Brothers at War

A First-Hand View of Jacob's Trouble

The trip had been planned quickly. I had witnessed the conflict in the Holy Land long enough on TV. I had to see this tiny but very significant country whose actions could cause the world to tremble. I had to write about it and see it for myself. It had come to me as one of those things that I just could not refuse. I felt that there was a story on both sides that was being written piecemeal and that there had to be a way to tell it in the big picture.

Here I was at O'Hare, ready to go. Israel was not the summer getaway it used to be, but I have never been a tourist anywhere I have ever been, and I did not intend to be one now. 911 did have a tremendous impact on me, as with most Americans, and it caused me to take my sizzling, hemorrhaging world more seriously. I knew that there was something historically afoot and I had to be part of it. It gets boring just watching history. Sometimes you have to be part of it and hopefully along the way make a little history too.

To say it appropriately, I had been to 33 countries, previous to travelling to Israel. I have been privileged to be as far East as the Eastern border of Bangladesh, as far North as Iceland and as far South as Senegal, West Africa. Every one of these regions has added something to my life and has made me think differently than before I visited them. The Muslim, the Catholic, the Hindu all gave special memories to me. Nevertheless, all of them combined never influenced the core of my heart like the Jews and the Palestinians in the middle of this war of stones, bomb-blasted bodies and sacred history being waged in the Holy Land. The truth is that both the Jewish and the Palestinian are wonderful peoples. From both of these rich cultures are masses of distressed people who want nothing more than peace. They want to keep their traditions, raise their children and simply live a life that is free of persistent fear.

The Israelis who worked at my hotel became my friends and were far more open about the tragic conflict than one might imagine. I sought to encourage them to trust in their faith and the future promises to their land. I tried to listen pretty well, also. Three workers at my hotel, Biet Shmuel had lost family members on the bus bombing on June 18. It was hard to be positive, but they needed lifted up while their world was crashing down.

Notably, the Palestinians were quite friendly to me from behind eyes that were angry, broken and insecure that even their tear-stained veils could not hide. Having spent time with one family in particular, I can say that they have a deep bond together. They are not nomads with nowhere to go. They are where they all expect to stay, along side of Israel if need be. They are honest and committed to give all for their land, even their blood if need be. Ahmet was the Café manager at my hotel. After talking to him for an hour I realized that this man was very smart. He could speak beautiful English, Hebrew and his mother tongue, Arabic. Take this man out of his entrapped milieu and set him free to be productive and he would make a lot of money. He told me, "I like everyone here. They are all very good people.

Of course I would like there to be a place for my people, but now I have a little boy and I want to live. I am treated very well in Israel. I love my family." These were deep words to me. He is a wise man, having earned respect on both sides of the conflict. Therefore, it is not a fair assumption to declare either side as purely evil or always good, clearly wrong or clearly right. They are two great peoples who have become strategically out of options. That meant that I would need to be ready to write the story as I saw it and to suppress any preconceived notions that I had possessed concerning who was wrong or who was right. I would have to be neutral. I would have to hear both halves of the story. I would ease into the situation after a quiet flight to the Holy Land. It was not to be.

I did my patriotic duty and was at the airport more than three hours early. Quickly, an Israeli security agent came up to me. He took my passport, looked at the eight year old picture inside it and did not quite believe it was me. I totally agreed. I told him that both the picture and the real thing were ugly. He asked me, "Why are you going to Israel now?" At times, I was asking myself the same question. "Don't you know what's going on there?" I told him that of course I did and that I was not afraid. I answered all his questions and I was informed five minutes later that they would not let me go on that flight. I would have to wait for the next morning and no explanation why was being offered. So, after a good night at the Radisson, on ELAL's tab, I boarded my flight the next morning. This experience and the six times that my bags were completely emptied and x-rayed and squeezed and shaken during my trip showed me that this was going to be the closest thing to being a war correspondent that I had ever experienced. This proved to be true as I was confronted head on with the post 911 world and two peoples under siege.

Arriving in Tel Aviv was like landing in the center of the world. History was invented in the Middle East, and Jerusalem was every bit the face of the Eternal City. The traffic ran "a la Middle East", but all the lights worked and few horns blared. I was tired and sleepy, but one doesn't go to Jerusalem during the intifada for sleep, and indeed I did little of it.

The old city of Jerusalem is stunning to see. I had to touch those ancient walls that had served as a fortress for kings. I walked around the walls past the Jaffa gate, the new Gate and finally came to the Damascus Gate. This was the Arab quarter. There were thousands of people there and it was like I had walked out of one country and into another. Covered women and loud voices screaming in Arabic gave me a chance to hear from the other side of the story here and that was what I wanted. Having lived in many Muslim countries, I felt comfortable and walked into the crowd. All together, I spoke to twenty-six different Arab men on my first day. None of them expressed approval for the bombers. The thick quiet serenity of the old city was deceiving. These merchants knew that they had no choice but endure the hard times. The quiet would not long endure though. As I walked, eyes trailed after me and before me. Was it my camera, my Western face or the fact that I was a foreigner who, in their minds, had but one interest, a story, and not necessarily a desire to understand the plight of their people, who had been repudiated by the developed powers of the world and by their own Arab brothers? Overhead that day, in the old city, an army helicopter circled overhead. The word was that there were two bombers in the city and that spelled murder. In all, I spent my first week speaking to many of these normal fathers and children who did not have the slightest hunch what their futures would hold.

It is difficult for placated, satiated Westerners to even marginally contemplate the nightmare of the Palestinians. Their society is far more open than that of many other Muslim peoples. They lead the pack, in the Muslim world, for literacy. Therefore, it is not inconceivable that the Palestinian people could produce good, competent leadership. Freedom for democracy and fair elections would bring in new leadership. If the UN and the USA can convince the Palestinian people that any elections must be fair and democratic, the people will vote for new leaders, because the Palestinians, I have met in their own homes, want peace. Their businesses are failing because the tourists are gone, and their families are in danger. Fairly though, the large majority of Palestinian Israelis stated to me that they were content to be citizens of Israel as long as they could achieve equal rights and be respected as equal partners with the Jewish state. None of them ever expected that prospect to become a complete reality, but they preferred to live in the relative safety of the Israeli side of the disputed borders.

In speaking with Jewish citizens, it was related to me that this was not possible in the present climate. Who could know who was legitimate and who was not? Was a weak Arafat of the past better than a future strong leader from Hamas, Islam Jihad, Al Aksa Martyrs' Brigade or some other terrorist group or faction? How could Israel make a lasting peace deal with a nation that was even divided amongst its own people, as we see today in The Gaza? One young woman who was a Palestinian lawyer expressed it to me this way, "I have so many friends who are Jewish. We really love each other and have always done everything together.

Now, we are not allowed to contact each other and God knows how much I miss them." The bottom line is that from both sides, these are scared, brutalized, bewildered people. They are not all militants and they not all combatants. They wake up, try to go to work and try to pay their bills. When they look at their children, they feel proud and afraid for their offspring's futures. Little is heard about the rank and file residents of the Holy Land, because they do not yield powerful stories of hatred and death. Perhaps if the media would go out and talk to them, the whole world would have a greater sense of hope for future peace in the Middle East. What I experienced next demonstrated why peace is so illusive in Israel...

Steven C. Bradley

About Steven Clark Bradley

Steven Clark Bradley has been to thirty-four countries including Pakistan, Iraq, Turkey and Africa. He has a Master's in Liberal Studies from Indiana University and speaks French and Turkish. He has been an Assistant to a Prosecutor, a University Instructor and freelance Journalist in Iraq, Israel and Turkey. Steven is the author of four dramatic thrillers, Patriot Acts, Nimrod Rising, StillBorn & Probable Cause.

You can find my books almost anywhere across the net and in an increasing number of bookstores. Here are a few links to help readers get copies of my Stories the will read them.

Patriot Acts @ Amazon.co (Print & Electronic Editions)

Patriot Acts @ Cambridge Books
Patriot Acts @ Fictionwise.com (eBook Edition)
Patriot Acts @ Mobipocket.com (ebook Edition)
Patriot Acts @ Ebooks on the net.com

Here are some links to your websites where visitors can read more about Author Steven Clark Bradley, and his writing?

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Author Steven Clark Bradley Interviewed by Geri's Book Reviews

2009-03-21T17:38:07+01:00

I have always been a storyteller. It seems to have been something I was born with. It was actually my son who challenged to stop writing as a hobby and to start publishing my several manuscripts I had written. As a child, I started writing dreams and ideas and it was all part of the process of learning how to paint a tableau with words. Probably the hardest thing was learning to get over what I call ‘the middle of the book’ syndrome. Perseverance is one word that best describes the main character trait that all dedicated writers possess. I can attest to that as I developed the characters, setting, atmosphere and all the million things that go into holding a story together.

What type of books do you enjoy writing?

It is such a driving passion to tell stories that could make one pause and reflect on where we were and where we are, to gain a better understanding of where we are going. The only problem is that when we look at where we are and perceive of where we're going, then the story always, inevitably come out shocking and ... dare I say spooky. It is never my intension to paint a bleak picture, but the truth can set us free. All of my books center on a major theme that typifies the human experience and tragedy. I look at my novels as my footprints in the sands of time that will live after I have been covered by the earth. I want to leave my books as my last will and testament, my final word to a world that my children will inherit, stories that make us look back so we can gain our bearings on the present to ensure a better future.

Did a special person in your life inspire you to become a writer?

Since my earliest years, until now, I have seen that life is carried forth by those who left behind accounts of the life that was common in the past. Every generation has the responsibility to share their thoughts and emotions for the future ones. So, I would not say that any one person has been my catalyst for my writing exploits. Instead, I feel that I am motivated to write by an ideal, the need to put into practice the freedom I possess from God to present the issues of our current day in a brave, realistic and plausible manner. With all that, there are certain writers who have pushed me forward. Thomas Clancy is a great mentor for me. He has had a great affect on me and made me know that freedom is not free. So, I am driven by my desire to demonstrate the freedom of our fingers to ensure that such liberty is never trampled on or disregarded.

Have you written any books based on a true life story?

I have lived in many cultures and that has given me a love for the differences amongst us, but my life has also opened up hundreds of doors or directions to write my stories. Because I have lived in so many cultures, I can say that all my books are, to a great extent, about myself. I love to fictionalize things that I have actually lived. It gives me an ability to describe things in such a realistic manner and takes the reader with me on a journey that will both tantalize them and at times, frighten them into taking stock of their own lives. I am a student of American culture and write about the changes in our society. Yet, every place I have been and in everyone I have met there has always been that same driving force; the desire to leave those who follow us something that says we were here! This is an intrinsic passion for every writer, ultimately.

The genre of stories I have written and the views I have expressed in my books are an intense effort to say something about my current society and to perhaps warn Pluribus Unum of the things that threaten the life we now have. I consider my books to be hard-hitting stories that may frighten the reader, as a result of the realism and the plausibility of the evil unleashed on an apathetic and ill-mannered world when faithlessness falls upon the just and the unjust.

Who is your favorite Author?

The writer who has most influenced me is Francis A. Schaeffer. Though he was a greatly respected Philosopher and not a novelist, his uncanny ability to show the cause and affect aspect that the decisions we make and as inhabitants of our world greatly spell victory or defeat of our way of life, so Schaeffer’s call to renew our respect for human life influences me to this day and is exemplified in all my novels. I think I am his antithesis in that his call was to show what faith would do for society and I write of a world devoid of any, and what woe it would work. No one else has assisted in the formation of my world view more than Francis Schaeffer, and I feel I am carrying forth his message in creating stories that show that none of us is an island and that we all have a major impact on the world around us, rather we know it or not.

Are your characters created from people you've known in real life, or are they from the imagination?

Well, almost all my characters are patterned after either great and honorable and bad and disreputable men and women I have met, and many I have known. I can recall sitting back in my chair and closing my eyes and picturing these people and asking how the person the character is patterned after would respond to something, what expression they would have on their faces or what actions would be instigated as a result of a given situation. I have met a great many people and that is a big help in creating my characters.

How many books have you written?

I have written and published four novels. Whether probable Cause which is a story of the tragic results of infidelity, Stillborn, which is a study of the lethal outcome of a life started and lived without love, compassion or human contact or Nimrod Rising which describes what a world could become when we leave behind all the human values that separate us from the rest of creation. Finally, Patriot Acts is an expose of the dangers of pretending that catastrophe is not out there when it is staring us in the face. Since I have traveled widely around the world, I have been privileged to possess the ability of giving a fair accounting of the life we share on this part of the small globe we call home. I also know how easy it would be to see liberty all blown away into the sands of time to only be disinterred by a yet to form people far different than our own. So, the stories that flood my mind are to help us stop, perceive, reflect…perhaps alter our actions and cause us to look at where we are, where we have been and determine, perhaps with more clarity, where we are going.

Where can your books be purchased?

You can find my books almost anywhere across the net and in an increasing number of bookstores. Here are a few links to help readers get copies of my Stories the will read them.

Patriot Acts @ Amazon.co (Print & Electronic Editions)

Patriot Acts @ Cambridge Books
Patriot Acts @ Fictionwise.com (eBook Edition)
Patriot Acts @ Mobipocket.com (ebook Edition)
Patriot Acts @ Ebooks on the net.com

Describe how you felt the first time you were Published.

The freedom to write so freely in a free land is such a wonderful thing. It is something to be cherished lest it be whittled away to finally be axed to death until we die for what we believe. It would not be the first time, nor the last. That is why I feel that there is nothing greater than writing & creating something from nothing. It's the closest thing to the divine! The freedom to say what we believe is not bequeathed to us by any man or woman. The ability to create worlds and personalities, to describe something so powerfully that it can make the reader laugh with joy, shiver in fear or cry in sorrow and empathy and then to breathe into them the breath of literary life is a gift from God; a process that starts in human imagination and comes to life on the printed page. It is the thing that separates us from the rest of creation! It is exactly what God did when He stepped into nothing and created something that lives and breathes! The process that takes hours of exciting and painstaking work, getting the manuscript to a publisher, getting it approved and edited and reedited and then printed and to actually see it in your hand! There is a world of intrigue and mystery in my hand and I am its creator. That’s a pretty powerful feeling!

Do you have any current work in progress for a new release?

I currently have two projects going. My third published novel, Nimrod Rising was actually three novels in one volume. I am deeply into part four of Nimrod Rising which is tentatively titled, Generations. That title is subject to change. I also am writing a children’s book titled Aiden’s Ashes which is a collaboration with one of my students, 15 years old, mind you! He is a great writer and really gifted. So I am working together with him on a really great story. I have three other works started. I always get an idea down on paper so I don’t forget it later. It is a real juggling act to market one’s novel while ever writing another one. It is tough work and it demands that the writer be dedicated to his or her trade and never grow weary of challenge before them.

What are some links to your websites where visitors can read a BIO on you as author, and your writing?

Goals, at least in my head, are guideposts, markers that can take us to a certain point. I am always careful to make my goals alterable, since many of the side streets we venture down mentally as writers produce the most unique stories, stories that stand out and proclaim the message the most clearly and brightly. Since my stories are always message driven more than mere entertainment, though I love entertaining material, I have to always have my heart tuned and my mind open. I am an ever growing, constantly learning, very dedicated writer. I try very hard not only to write about today as I also seek to point the way in which today’s lifestyles, whatever they may be, shall either take us towards a reasonable position of faith and unity or shall shove us headlong into a pitiful humanity where man is reduced to mere trouble, scarcely meriting bread and water, such as in the case of Terri Schiavo. Remember her? She could be you…me…any of us, in a world that makes human life so cheap that it renders death itself as the sole solution, with dignity. I guess I am saying that I drive my goals, they do not drive me.

At this point and time in your life, are you exactly where you wanted to be in your writing endeavors?

I am never satisfied with any product I create, I know that I must go the extra mile to get the story to people and to make sure it is at the point where I can be sure the readers will grasp the overall and underlying message. So, I am never where I want to be because I keep pushing the bar further out and continually giving an extra push to achieve. There is always another word, another issue, another story to tell. I suspect, I’ll never feel I have arrived. I tell my students that the times when you feel you are learning nothing, or that they are not achieving their goals, that those are the times when they are most likely learning the most. With every new thing we learn or try, there is a new feeling of inadequacy, but that is because it is new and still being implemented in my mind. The times of euphoria are not the times to sit back. I never feel I have arrived or that I am where I want to be. That drives me to be creative and to reach higher.

In your opinion, what are some factors that can help authors reach their dream of accomplishment?

Winston Churchill said, “The Pessimist sees problems in every opportunity, but the Optimist sees opportunities in every problem” These thoughts often enter an author’s mind once they get into the middle of a novel and need that second wind to get over the hump of taking the story to the next level by pouring themselves into it. It’s this inner voice that makes us press on when we feel so unsure until the story starts to write itself. Some call that this “Literary Critical Mass” when the story becomes a living thing and logic flows and literary inertia seem to take over. Actually, this drive makes all of the characters come alive so that eventual readers will become one with the story until you accomplish your task! To wisely persevere, you need to see the costs or difficulties and benefits or positives of what you are doing. An honest and good decision requires honest and good information. The more you understand yourself, the more certain you will be about your decisions and the more likely you will find the strength to persevere. All of this serves to develop your own writing style and makes you unique and singular in your message. You’ll probably find that you’re having more fun than you actually thought you would!

You want to write a book, you have an amazing idea that you need to get on paper before you lose it and you do not know how to get started. Ever feel that way? Writers do all the time. It takes time to make your image in your mind into a world with living breathing characters that do a multitude of things and have a multitude of personalities.

Writers draw their ideas from the world around them. They also most often pattern the characters, the good the bad and the not so bad characters after people they have met. My novels are full of distinct, international, good, bad and evil people. We all have met people whom we have categorized in one group or another. Click on the link below to learn about the main characters of the story of Nimrod Rising. Who is the hero, heroine, villain. Click here and learn about characters that are as real as it gets!

As an author, have you ever experienced writer's block?

I like to say that I let the story tell me what is next. When I cannot get the drift of the next part, I have to relax and listen and let the natural progress of the book direct me. I do get writer’s block, but I know that perseverance is one word that best describes the main character trait that all dedicated writers possess. I can attest to that as I developed the characters, setting, atmosphere and all the million things that go into holding a story together and bringing the new world into the realm of plausible and real.

In your opinion, what advice can you give to authors to prevent writer's block?

The best way to describe this important word is three simple words: “Never giving up!” Sometimes, when we find ourselves wanting to quit something, we feel pulled in two directions. Have you ever heard these voices in your head? “There’s no use in continuing!” or perhaps “I have failed and I give up!” These feelings are almost always untrue and are usually caused by depression, fatigue or loneliness. There are so many other personal things in our lives that cause such feelings of hopelessness. We are also drawn by voices in our heads that tell us not to give up. “Think of all the time you’ve invested!” or “Think how hard you have worked!” It’s that second voice that helps you continue on and is what I call “Wise Perseverance.” Below, you will find links to the mind of Steven Clark Bradley and what drives him to write with such great passion. Each link gives a different perspective of the writing process.

As a child, did you have any favorite books that you enjoyed reading?

I loved the Chronicles of Narnia as an older teenager and of course read Mark Twain, but I loved Nancy Drew books. I was a strange child, which means I have not changed that much. I was into history and political material, at a very early age. I read lots of history and loved political magazines, believe it or not.

As a child, did you enjoy reading a lot?

As I said earlier, I was a bit strange, as a child. I remember I read through almost all the World Book Encyclopedias in my school library, which gave me my great love for travel and culture, and which gave me ideas for stories like no one else has written.

If you had the opportunity for one day to live the life of a famous author, who would it be?

I think I would be Vince Flynn. This author is one of the best I have read in terms of painting the picture so real that I can see it in my mind. He too writes about real-life situations that are now confronting the world. Each of his books are strong, assertive and passionate with drama and action, but with action that could be really taken. He is the best writer I have read.

Many authors feel a sense of self-satisfaction after publishing a book. Some feel a sense of achievement, can you relate to such feelings?

I can say that each novel feels like another one of my literary children was born. All the hard work, all the revisions, the TLC that goes into making it powerful and readable and clear, expressive and addictive to the reader comes together when it sits in my hand. The greatest thing is to finally read it in book form and I forget that I am the writer and loving it. It is one of the greatest feelings I have ever had. My novel, Nimrod Rising represented more than 12 years of hard work. There is no feeling like that.

How do you balance your current occupation with your goals for writing?

This is the easiest question to answer; I never sleep. I have been blessed with the strange ability to be rested with as little as 5 hours sleep a day. I have been that way all my life. My wife too is just wonderful. She knows that what I do demands lots of time and she is my best supporter and full of understanding. I am a language teacher and I find that my writing and my teaching fit well together. I do feel times of stress, and I realized that during those times, it is important to take a break, recharge the batteries and write with pleasure and never because I feel I have to.

How did you feel at your first book-signing, or the first time you signed one of your published books?

I was surprised that people actually wanted to buy them. I found that I was really able to communicate the story as I spoke about it and made me feel really confident and I understood that that was what I was really good at. I am a people person and love the face to face. Getting book-signings and public appearances are hard to line up, but they not only sell books, such events encourage the writer to be ready to carry out the same tough work that we did on the previous book, because it is our passion.

If you won the lottery tomorrow, would that change your plans in your writing career? If so, how?

I have never thought of money as my claim to fame. Of course, I would go crazy to win that much money and I’d head down the list helping some people I’d love to bless, but I’d use it to further my writing and to ensure my stories were read. I am not driven by money, another point in which I am strange, I guess. Yet, I am a writer and the artist gene is alive and well in my head.

As writers, we begin with a manuscript that becomes published, and then we learn the meaning of promotions. In your opinion, what was the most difficult task?

The hardest task is getting book stores to believe in you and getting your story to readers. Finding a good agent is like pulling teeth, as well. I think the publishing and book store industry is geared against writers, to a great extent. It is true that there are a lot of bad books; badly written, badly edited and many publishers are into money and care less about authors. It got me down for a while, but I told myself that I write for the message and that there were just some things that would just have to do for myself. Though writing the book is challenging and meticulous, it is fun and enjoyable, because that is what we do. I am not an editor, an agent nor a publisher. Yet, I have had to do almost all those things. It has taught me a lot and I am glad for the struggle, because I come to discover other talents that I did not know I had.

Some writers need to listen to soft music to help them write those chapters for a new release, some prefer looking at the ocean, or flowers. Do you have any particular scenery, or object that you wish to focus on when writing?

I find that I always listen to music when I write. I love to listen to movie soundtracks as I write. The music is written to set moods and feelings for particular scenes. This has been perfect for me to give my mind the mood of the part I am writing. Music is powerful helps me write with the language the story dictates.

If you had books published in one Genre such as horror, and became daring to write a novel for a different genre, what would it be?

Every story has a genre of its own. I never set out to write a horror story. I like to say that I write about the world around us. I touch subjects that most of us do not dare broach. My books do not all fit into any one genre. I want to warn people about the loss of faith and the world that we do not see colliding with our own, so I wrote Nimrod Rising. I wanted to warn about the dangers of child abuse and the creation of criminal monsters, so I penned Stillborn, suspense drama. I wanted to show what infidelity could do to an exceptionally good man who lost everything and how it could transform him into a raging maniac, so I wrote Probable Cause. I wanted to demonstrate how lethargy and pretending that a terrorist danger is not present could place the nation at large in the forefront of a national disaster, and I wrote Patriot Acts. I want to be broad in my writing and I cannot predict what I will write next, not until the story tells me.

Comments

Is Patriot Acts A Plausible Scenario? You Be The Judge Part 2 - The Right-Wing Phenomenon

2009-03-08T10:35:36+01:00

Recently, I wrote about a question I had posed to readers whether they thought the scenario of my novel Patriot Acts was plausible or far fetched. I demonstrated, through articles by well-known writers on the Middle East, that Iran had a mindset for nuclear war. This week it was reported that Iran had already enriched enough nuclear material for a bomb that could be produced by the end of 2009. Yesterday, it was further stated that Iran actually had enough material for as many as fifty nuclear devices.

It is obvious that the plot of Patriot Acts is one that could most easily transpire. Yet, Iran needs to build a network throughout the United States of hoodlum and enraged Patriots who have let their rage grow bigger than the reason for it. In Patriot Acts, just as Iran needs to link into such groups, The radical right-wing militia groups that are even now amassing in their hidden away shelters getting ready to take back their liberty while infringing upon the freedom of others from whom they had received no offense.

A Patriot can disagree vehemently with the elected leader of his country, yet, pray so stalwartly for his growth of faith, and God's hand of protection, praying that he be wise & even as an opponent, remain ready to stand up and lay down his life, in the President's defense. How many liberals would have pledged thus for George W. Bush? Let’s face it, Conservatives, those who believe the Constitution, we are those who hold it as unchangeable and for all time, without regard for changes in culture and without sway even in the face of the loss of values and/or faith. Have we really slowed down and ask ourselves if we really know how easy it would be to lose this nation? I mean for it to be buried under the sands of time, a relic to be studied in amazement at how the Mighty had fallen.

Democracy is a strange thing, because you cannot keep it unless you truly love it. It is hard, arduous and constantly under attack by those who speak of freedom but who lay in wait to get us to sell our birthright for a false “security” and the green god of America. The American people seem to have grown tired of self-rule.

The leaders of today grew up at a time when entitlement meant that they could, while others could not. With the times that are, even now, staring America in the face render the radical and the seriously pissed off to gather together, by any means, to set aside whatever morals or principles that would certainly otherwise impede them and to set their minds on taking whatever they might need from whatever outstretched hand offered it. In paraphrase of the words of Obama’s Chief of Staff, Rom Emanuel, neither side will let a crisis go to waste.

America is not like the ancient nations of Asia. China, South Korea and many others which have history span thousands of years of history. Their governments could fall, but they would always be a people. America is a hybrid nation, and it has always been that ability to work together, regardless of the differences that made us great. Yet, America is like fine crystal, gloriously valuable, beautiful to behold, but so very delicate to the touch, when it comes to the current revolution of change, which is even now transforming America into highly controlled, powerfully ruled and dangerously sensitive nation that no longer follows nor values the very principles we, ourselves established. America’s fabric would unravel as fast as the constitution was shredded; only to be replaced with a very efficient and brutal regime that will work woe against any who might seek to bring back the America of the past. This is the world we now face, and in the midst of such tyranny and abuse, those who would seek to destroy what they consider to be an imposter would be easy pickings for a nation like Iran to deliver an attack so devastating, from which, The United States could not easily recover.

WARNING TO ALL MILITIAS

Such groups are very active throughout the United States. You have seen some videos of several militia groups in this article, because I wanted to demonstrate that these people are truly out there and they are stronger than ever and are serious about wreaking havoc on the United State. There are many State Militia organizations that serve a great role in the nation. Those are the true patriots who love America and is ready to defend her against enemies, foreign and/or domestic. They do not represent the force of treachery that is described in Patriot Acts.

Patriot Acts reveals just what such people could do to a nation that has closed its eyes to the disaster that is about to befall them. For this reason, I feel that Patriot Acts is a very important novel; one that can get America’s attention and can perhaps help us to once again truly care. Steven Clark Bradley

Today, America is at war with religious radicals who are hell-bent on destroying Western civilization. We have seen what radical religious fanatics can do to bring a peaceful nation to war. Read "Last Ounce of Devotion" from my next novel, Patriot Acts and see what would happen if our own brand of fanatics, right here at home, teamed up with the Islamic radicals with whom we are at war abroad? The concept is both challenging and lethal! What can turn a child into an extremist?

How can a child who was born in the land of the free be transformed into a man who seeks to destroy the land of his birth? I think you will find this chapter stimulating and frightening by virtue of its plausibility and the probability of seeing this scenario played out within the borders of the United States of America. The actions taken to protect The United States of America are not radical reactions to terrorism. They are Patriot Acts!

Excerpt From Patriot Acts
Last Ounce of Devotion by Steven Clark Bradley

Northern Indiana - 2009

Toto, Indiana was no ordinary almost-village. It had some great little stores that sold just about anything. It had countryside, farmland, an abundance of wild reefer, a large contingent of KKK want-a-be’s and the largest concentration of militia groups in the nation. These were not just a bunch of bed and breakfast warriors, but good husbands. They were involved daddies and mommies, devoted believers…at least on Sundays. There were serious and lower-scale business men ready to fight for each other as one with those they employed. All of them were unswervingly ready to give their last ounce of devotion to create a world where freedom was shouted loudly while bigotry reigned king. The larger towns and small cities around the Podunk spot of Earth that was Toto, Indiana were the fastest growing small cities of the state. Knox, Indiana was the County Seat and had progressed from the “Bloody Bucket Bar” to the “Court House View Tap”. No one was being thrown out of the windows anymore, but the same crazies still drank their fill but were too old to carouse any longer like they used to. The almost town place, North Judson still had a sense of the rustic and, like Knox, was a fundamentally good place to bring up the next generation of defenders of the Constitution, at least that was how they mostly viewed it along Toto Road, the one road that entirely spanned the county. Staying on Toto Road was like a place of refuge. One could traverse the county, into the depth of this country enclave and still feel secure inside their car. Thoughts of turning left or right off of Toto Road could only be carried out safely by those born in Starke County. Strangers are not too well digested in the land of a thousand armies.

The folks around Toto, Indiana did not like them strangers coming in there and looking all over their Jeeps, gawking at their arsenals all set up for the day that the United States Government would most certainly tear up the Constitution and cast it to the wind. The globalists elected to the offices of the land, down from the most menial, elected position in the nation and up to the most powerful office in the world, would most certainly need to be overcome by the people’s sheer willingness to keep what they had yearned and striven for. Almost every car was known that drove up in there. Today was no different in road traffic than any other, except for the special passenger that the old Ford Escort was carrying, as it turned off Indiana Highway 35 North and onto Toto Road heading due west.

~~~

Len Garret sat with his feet up on his coffee table and thought about all he had lived through that had brought his to the point of departure that was at hand. He had some visitors who’d be arriving shortly. For the moment though, Garret held a bottle of Tequila in his hand and stared straight up at the portrait of his father that was hung prominently over the Fireplace. Garret had commissioned the painting himself, as a tribute the man who had both beaten him on a regular basis and who had instilled in him a stiff determination to never give into the internationalists, globalists, traitors, fags, or any other lowlife epitaph that he could recall hearing his father use for those who ran the country. Though Len Garret’s father was a feared and respected memory, that painting over the fireplace served more as a constant reminder that he had unfinished business to conduct than as an act of true feeling for the old man about whom even Len Garret himself had wondered a few times if his father Russell Garret had gone mad. “Even so, if Dad was crazy then guess the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”Len Garret thought as his eyes grew heavy. His father’s greatest wish would be realized, starting today…everything would start today.

~~~

The old Ford Escort was heading west on Toto Road. For the driver, driving this patch of asphalt was an everyday occurrence. For the dark-faced passengers in the back seat, they had sworn that such a wild and overgrown area would certain spell some kind of mischief against them. Weren’t all these retched people along this backwater place Christians? That point, alone made this journey one that made these guests shaky and worried. Yet, it was about something that would make the world change forever and well worth the risk. The Escort drove into the miniopolis of Toto and turned left onto County Line Road. There was no turning back. It was like a little bit of Vegas in Hicksville, USA.

~~~

Len Garret’s fingers felt the skin covering his own visage as he looked at his father’s face. He started staring at the painting profoundly, so deeply, just like a thousand other times, and his eyes flickered, closed, then opened and the remained shut and a world that had long disappeared took on a shape and life, and he saw it all afresh. It was a day he recalled easily, because it had caused him to grow into the man he was today, having had his childhood cut short. He saw that boy again. He had seen him too often after having had his order to his brain to stay awake disobeyed. Each time he ventured into the recesses of his slumbering mind it was like opening the wounds that had closed up outwardly, but still raw and hemorrhaging on the inside.

Patriot Acts - Last Full Ounce Of Devotion - Watch more free videos

He saw the boy, in his reverie, seated in the huge hall reading the document that his father had so loved while glancing around at the armed men and women stationed about him. His father had given his last ounce of devotion when the country he had almost given his life for ultimately took it away along with his daughter and wife. In the service of his country and while seeking the protection of his people, which was the goal and stated purpose of the sacred parchment anyway, and which he had believed until realizing that it was really nothing more than a not-so-hidden or secretive organization. But then, politicians did specialize in perception, and he had fallen prey to their tactics, though not necessarily of his own will. He knew he was young, just Seventeen years old seated there in the grand hall waiting for something, a ruling, a judgment.

He was not exactly a child, but except in such cases as this boy, most children his age still never thought about such things. He only knew that his moment had come too early. He wanted to kill them all one minute and run home and play his half-life video game, the next. His mind now knew that his day of games was over. He knew he would see his death, and now forcefully knew that childhood was not a never-ending run and that he was a child no more, for he knew he would die. . .

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Is Patriot Acts A Plausible Scenario? You Be The Judge Part 1

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Is Patriot Acts A Plausible Scenario? You Be The Judge...

2009-03-04T16:50:06+01:00

Patriot Acts - Special Handling

Once I had an editor tell me that it seemed inconceivable to him that anyone could work to destroy his or her own nation. It is normal that people have a hard time envisioning that America could face such a devastating attack from foreign or domestic terrorist as is presented in Patriot Acts. We seem, as a people, to have an uncanny knack for forgetting the past or a dangerous lack of ability to think of a future where America could be at her knees in the face of such a terrible attack that we have nowhere to turn.

In Patriot Acts, America finds itself under covert nuclear attack from a unified force of the Islamic Republic of Iran and radical American Militia groups; setting aside their political and religious differences to carry out the widest and deadliest attack on America in the nation's history. In the midst of an unsure, newly inaugurated presidency, the attack is discovered and the new President must forgo the honeymoon and take grave and massive actions to spare the nation.

In this post, I have added two articles about the nation of Iran, which is the root of terrorism in the world today. Recently, The United Nations announced that Iran now has enriched enough nuclear material to build a nuclear bomb. Even now, Iran’s nuclear sites are coming online and that should make America and the world take notice that we are about to have a new enemy that will make the Iran of yesterday pale in comparison to the enemy they are about to become.

Please take a look at the two articles about Iran’s militaristic actions and their desire to attack Israel, which would be tantamount to an attack on the United States itself. After you read them, go on and read the excerpt from my novel Patriot Acts. I think you’ll find it highly plausible and eye-opening. Today, we do not need more talk or carrot sticks for this evil government in Tehran. We need, Patriot Acts! - Steven Clark Bradley

PROF. BERNARD LEWIS WARNS OF IRANIAN LEADERS’

“APOCALYPTIC MINDSET”

President Ahmadinejad is driving Iran’s foreign policy. Incoming Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu and I have discussed the subject and I believe he understands the seriousness of the situation. Unfortunately, neither President Obama administration nor the new Congressional leadership seems to understand whom they are facing in Tehran.

In that context, I was encouraged to see a transcript of a panel discussion last week in which Princeton Professor Bernard Lewis, arguably the West’s foremost expert on Islam and the Middle East, warned of the “apocalyptic mindset” of the current Iranian leadership and said Ahmadinejad in particular cannot be deterred by the arms control strategies that worked with the Soviet Union.

Excerpts: “In Islam, as in Judaism and Christianity, there is a scenario for the end of times, where the final battle between the forces of good and the forces of evil will occur. For Christians and Muslims alike, this means between ‘us’ and ‘them.’ The ‘us’ being differently defined, the ‘them’ being more or less the same. From the view of a certain section within the Iranian leadership, it’s not by any means unanimous, that time is now. For a group… whose main leader is [Iranian President Mahmoud] Ahmadinejad, the apocalyptic time has come. “Ma’adi,” the Muslim messiah is already here. The final battle has already begun. That is important for another reason, and that is concerning Iran’s nuclear weapon. The Soviet Union had weapons right through the cold war, but neither side used them because they were aware the other side would use them as well. It was called mutual assured destruction (MAD) which was the main deterrent of using the weapons. For most of the Iranian leadership, MAD would work as a deterrent. But for Ahmadinejad and his group, with their apocalyptic mindset, MAD is not a deterrent, but an inducement. They believe that the end of time has come and the sooner the better. So the good can go enjoy the delights of paradise and the wicked, meaning all of us here, can go to eternal damnation.

NETANYAHU GETS THE NOD

AS U.N. SAYS IRAN HAS

ENOUGH URANIUMTO

BUILD FIRST NUCLEAR BOMB

Benjamin Netanyahu received the official word today from Israeli President Shimon Peres that he has six weeks to put together a coalition to lead the next government of Israel. The announcement came as the U.N. announced that Iran now has enough uranium to build its first nuclear weapon.

Given the seriousness of the growing crisis with Iran, Netanyahu is calling for a broad “unity government” that would include Tzipi Livni’s Kadima party.

“For decades we have not withstood so many challenges at the same time,” said Netanyahu. “To face up to these challenges we need to join hands and unite all the forces within the people. I call on all parties, those who recommended me and those who didn’t. I turn to [Kadima leader Tzipi] Livni and to [Labor leader Ehud] Barak — let us join hands and pledge for the future of Israel. I hope to meet with you first and discuss a wide unity government.”

Livni, however, today said she refuses to serve with Netanyahu. ”Today, the foundations of a right-wing extremist government under Netanyahu were set,” Livni wrote in a text message sent to 80,000 Kadima members. “The path of such a government is not our own and we have nothing to look for there. You didn’t vote for us in order to provide a kosher certificate for a right-wing government, and we need to provide an alternative of hope from the opposition.”

The big question for Netanyahu, however, may not be how best to form his government, but how his government — whatever form it takes — will interact President Barack Obama, given the deep fissures between the two men over how to stop Iran from becoming a nuclear-armed power.

“Iran is developing nuclear weapons and poses the greatest threat to our existence since the War of Independence,” said Netanyahu. “Iran’s terror wings surround us from the north and south” Based on my conversations with Israel’s next Prime Minister, I believe Netanyahu fundamentally understands the apocalyptic, genocidal Islamic eschatology driving Iran’s current leaders. By contrast, I am convinced that President Obama or Secretary of State Clinton do not understand at all the End Times beliefs of the current leaders of Iran, and are thus making wrong policy choices based on their lack of understanding. Let us pray, therefore, that as Mr. Netanyahu forms his government and then meets with President Obama and top U.S. leaders that he is able to help American officials understand who they are dealing with in Tehran, and find a way to work together to stop Iran before it is too late.

What's Being Said About Patriot Acts?

Excerpt From Patriot Acts - Special Handling

Saturday, February 21, 2009

Fisher Harrison’s eyes were closed in a drug-induced stupor, but his mind was replaying the day his family abandoned him! He saw it all afresh and looked out over a terrain that was lifeless, and yet there were living crawling things all around him, in the shrubs, in the bald headed trees and all around his feet. Some of the things were insects, others were reptilian but the large majority of them were human. Down the highway of death all about him was the burnt out carnage of a war that was caused by a man set on seizing the Middle East and setting it ablaze and resulting from a President’s lack of resolve to finish a job barely halfway completed. Cars, Trucks, both civilian and military, the carcasses of tanks and men alike were strewn about like God had reached down and picked it all up at once and tossed it into space and let it fall at will! Bodies of men with their limbs blown off were everywhere with the detached limbs of another comrade’s arm, leg or head laying next to them. This highway of madness Fisher Harrison saw so clearly as he looked at the residue of 100 hours of slaughter that had taken Saddam Hussein out of Kuwait. Fisher Harrison lamented, as he knew that his brothers in arms had been removed from their advance to kill the tyrant only to be assured that they’d have to return one day to repeat it all over again, only at a far more wretched price! They were all gone! Fisher looked over the horizon in every direction to see if even a cloud of smoke could be seen from a retreating Bradley or Abrams. There was nothing! They were gone; all gone except for him! The only remaining American thing he could still see was the chopper he had escaped from death in; the chopper where 7 of his fellow Special Black Ops had not been so lucky. As Fisher took out his long-range viewers the only hint of the war left were thick, black clouds rising into the sky from the incinerated oil wells in Kuwait and the various cars, trucks, and military hardware that had not yet burned themselves out!

Fisher saw movement to his left. He walked over to a car that was burnt beyond recognition. Inside was the dead body of a young Arab girl, about 16. On top of her was an Iraqi soldier still breathing and still inside her where he had been when an exploding shell had impacted close to the car where he had been reviling her. His breathing was shallow and his eyes opened slowly as he regained consciousness and he mumbled!

“Allah Wakbar…”

The soldier’s eyes opened and Fisher saw him look down at the girl he had been raping when he had been knocked unconscious. The soldier had not seen Fisher but looked down at the dead girl under him and he started to laugh. It had seemed ironic to him that she had escaped her pain by dying and he had been forced to continue in his by living. The soldier slapped the dead girl across the face and then spat on her just before he pulled himself out of her. He stood up and looked down at the young Iraqi girl, one of his own, and laughed again before turning around to see Colonel Fisher Harrison’s gun staring in his face.
“American! You are American! War over! God bless America! God bless America!”

Fisher kept the gun directly about six inches from the Iraqi’s face and aimed between the Muslim Rapist’s eyes!

“Thank you, God always blesses America! Give your Allah my regards!”

Fisher squeezed the trigger and the Iraqi’s face exploded before Fisher’s eyes!
Fisher Harrison didn’t flinch! Killing was his job. It was what he did without the slightest increase in his pulse.

He heard a sudden sound of rotors twirling and saw the tornado-like affect of a Black Hawk heading his way and stirring up the desert floor. He looked straight ahead of him and up and saw a chopper and his heartbeat picked up speed when he thought of his brethren coming to take him out of this field of twisted metal, war-ravaged breathless faces and smoldering death!

The chopper continued its approach and then the pilot and his Ordinance Specialist saw Fisher! The chopper flew toward him and hovered overhead. Fisher started waving his arms until he saw the expression on the pilot and Or. Spec’s faces. Fisher then just stood there under the chopper holding his hands up with sand and debris being propelled all around him and in him realizing they had not come to rescue him but to kill him, to get him out of the way!
Fisher stared into their faces less than one hundred feet above him with a huge caliber round staring back at him. The pilot could not take his eyes off Fisher! Fisher was sure he had seen tears run down both of their faces! Fisher too had the same sort of eyes looking back at them pleading with them to take their brother home!

Fisher turned his back to them and fell to his knees and looked at the death all around him. He raised his arms and cried out!

“Who are we? What have we become? What can we defend?”

This was a case of ‘Special Handling’! Perhaps his own brothers would make him one with his dead comrades, but if so it would be a shot in the back! Why would he bravely take a bullet to the forehead when the nation he had so bravely fought for was about to so cowardly make him disappear?

The pilot just hung there in the air and Fisher resolved himself to his fate and knew there would be justice, even if not in this life! Fisher finally turned around and looked up at the two soldiers hanging in the metal whirling bird hanging not so far above him. He saw the pilot lean over and say something to his Or. Spec. Then the Or. Spec held a radio like the one Fisher had at his side. He flashed Fisher four fingers and Fisher turned the radio to channel four and could now hear all communications between the chopper and base camp. The chopper maneuvered about ten feet to the right of Fisher.

Inside the cockpit, Kuwait command enquired of the soldiers’ mission.

“Have you located the target?”

“That’s affirmative! Target in sight, Sir.”

“Execute then for God sake!”

“Roger that! Executing now sir!”

Then the chopper that had moved away from Fisher loaded its gun and the Or. Spec stuck his head out of the craft and Fisher saw him very plainly and clearly! Fisher had told himself he would never forget his face, but he eventually would. The Or. Spec waved at Fisher to get down on the ground. Fisher concurred and the Or. Spec fired off fifteen rounds just to Fisher’s right. Fisher knew they had missed and knew they had chosen to miss!

The chopper then maneuvered direct over top of Fisher and the Or. Spec took a large plastic bag full of blood and dropped it down from the chopper so it would fall directly on Fisher whose body was still splayed out flatly in the corrupted sand of the Highway of Hell! It busted open on impact! The Or. Spec then took a camera and shot several photos of Fisher lying there, apparently dead! The Or. Spec then looked down at Fisher and Fisher looked up and the soldiers above who had placed their right extended fingers to their foreheads and saluted Colonel Fisher Harrison!

"Kuwait Command, this is Merciless One”
“Merciless one? That is not your call sign.”

“Target is down! I repeat target is down!”

“Do you have verification?”

“That’s affirmative, Sir and we have just killed one of our own and have earned any call sign we chose!”

“You are to maintain radio darkness!”

“Sir, after we get this bird safely to her nest, consider the both of us as having resigned our commissions and never fly for this force again! And you can then take your darkness and stick it up your ass! Sir! Merciless One, over and out!”

“Come in Mercy One, Mercy One, do you read me...?”

The chopper lifted high into the sky and flew away! Fisher saw it leaving, growing smaller and then vanish! Fisher rolled over on his back and looked straight up and screamed!

“What have we become!?” and his eyes forced themselves open!

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STORIES THAT READ YOU!

2009-02-21T07:34:29+01:00

Want to get Steven Clark Bradley's Novels Now?

You Can Get All Steven Clark Bradley's Books, Nimrod Rising, StillBorn! & Probable Cause and Patriot Acts Now!

If you'd like to buy one of Steven's novels, just click one of the links and enjoy reading a book that might even explore you! Thanks again!

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There is nothing greater than writing & creating something from nothing. It's the closest thing to the divine! The ability to create worlds and personalities, to describe something so powerfully it can make the reader laugh with joy, shiver in fear or cry in sorrow and empathy and to then breathe into them the breath of literary life is a gift from God; a process that starts in human imagination and comes to life on the printed page. It is the thing that separates us from the rest of creation! It is exactly what God did when He stepped into nothing and created something that lives and breathes!

I have written the genre of stories expressed in my books because I want to say something about my current society and to perhaps warn us of the things that could threatened the life we now have. I consider my books to be hard-hitting love stories that may frighten the reader, but which lead to a conclusion of hope and safety. Since i have traveled widely around the world, I think I can give a fair comparison of the life we share on this part of the small globe we call home. I also know how easy it would be to see it all blown away into the sands of time. So, the stories that flood my mind are to help us stop, perceive, reflect and perhaps alter our actions and cause us to look at where we are, where we have been and determine, perhaps with more clarity, where we are going.

I have lived in many cultures and that has given me a love for the differences amongst us. I am a student of American culture and write about the changes in our society. Yet, every place I have been and in everyone I have met there has always been that same driving force; the desire to leave those who follow us something that says we were here! This is an intrinsic passion for every writer, ultimately.

Some of us have or will become well known while we still write. Many of us will not be discovered until well after we have graduated to a higher calling. Yet, all of us want to leave behind a written account, a treatise of sorts, of what we value, how we think and what we believe. That is our legacy so that many after us may gain a perspective on our hopes and dreams and fears, in the day in which we live. That is why I write and that is what drives me and that is my passion! I bet you can relate!

Steven's books are about issues that will make you think and reevaluate the things you've never questioned before. Steven's three novels are listed here and there are excepts from each of his novels. You will also find articles he has written as an expert status writer for ezine.com. Take a look, move around and explore, leave a comment!

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Today, America faces enemies that make the world of the Cold War seem like much brighter times. Islamic forces have declared Jihad on America causing the greatest threat to the life of the United States since World War II. In Patriot Acts, America finds itself under covert nuclear attack from the Islamic Republic of Iran which has linked up with radical American Militia groups. They have set aside their political and religious differences to carry out the widest attack to America in the nation 's history. Colonel Fisher Harrison, the best trained Special Ops killer the military has, is the only one person who can effectively retaliate against their aggression. The only problem is that Colonel Fisher is in a federal prison, framed for a murder he did not commit by his former boss who is now the President of the United States of America. Take an amazing journey from Alaska to the Midwest and to the center of the Islamic Republic of Iran as two enemies unite to save the nation from two adversaries in league to bring the country to its knees. You will be amazed how close to home and to reality Patriot Acts could be!

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Have you ever felt that the world was guided in ways that are beyond man’s control? The constant changes in the world since the time of Nimrod 4000 years ago until today and all the events that have shaken the world have been to bring the universe back into the hands of the Prince of Darkness, Lucia, a world that he had ruled with his Watchers before it was all ripped from his grasp when man was created. Nimrod Rising paints a diabolical picture of how the Prince of Darkness executes his evil plot to take the world back by force and destroy civilization in the process. From the Great Builder Nimrod in 4000 BC to today, 666 generations later, you can ride the storm of Nimrod Rising and experience the death of a world and the birth pangs of another. You will swear it is really upon us!

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When two brothers are separated from birth they usually find great joy when at last they discover each other. It is not always so harmonious, though. StillBorn explores what can happen when an Illegal adoption causes twins to be born without love and sold without remorse. When one is rejected because of a physical defect and left in an orphanage without identity and the other is adopted in his place into a wonderful life the result is one of bitterness and ruthless revenge. When they grow up and find each other a game of revenge and death is played out. See what a life of pain, suffering and abuse can do when vengeance becomes a driving motivation and humanity is shouting, am StillBorn! Amazon.com Fictionwise.com Mobipocket.com ebooksonthe.net barnesandnoble.com bordersstores.com booksamillion.com powells.com copperfields.com

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Have you ever wished you could simply decide the best way to correct a serious wrong done to you? Chief Inspector Corbett (Core) Mandeville was the best of the best in solving the worst crimes in his state, until now. This time, he has an uncanny affinity with a killer who has more than one attitude in common with his own. This time the crime was too close to Core's own heart for comfort. This killer had a reason for what he was doing and Core understood it as though it were he himself was stepping out and taking justice into his own hands. Get into the mind of the killer and the cop as both find a relationship that makes for exciting, lethal and profound actions of vengeance and justice. You'll have fun trying to figure out the crime. You may be amazed how similar they both can be when all their actions are based on Probable Cause! amazon.com barnesandnoble.com
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Welcome to the Dictocracy

2009-02-15T03:08:09+01:00

There are two ways to enslave a people. People do not give up their Freedom. They naturally take it for granted. The search for Freedom has always been the driving force that has risen bowed and beaten men up from the ashes and transformed them into warriors of their people. It is the final understanding that no man makes me free, but the realization that I am altogether and utterly free, such liberty having been breathed into the nostrils of the first man and woman.

I recently asked my students where they get their freedom, in their homelands. They all inevitably answered that it was their countries and their governments which gave them Rights. I only slightly hesitated and that no nation granted them freedom, for it was a gift of God, instilled in the very genome of humanity. Since freedom is not granted by any government, people naturally forget that Power and Freedom are in always in conflict. Freedom either slinks away like a vapor, never aware that it was almost gone, until it is no more.

Freedom can only be snatched away from a people too dependent to stand alone, too afraid to take a risk, told that they are in an emergency and made to believe that only The One can fix it. This sorry and destructive role can only lead to the collapsing of the United States of America, much Rome, as the Republic and the Senate, slinked away into relative irrelevance. There will always be a nation here, the power brokers shall never divvy up such a great power as this nation possesses. But it shall cease to be the nation once founded on virtue, self-reliance, free thought and the expressions of those ideals.

Such a nation that has persuaded its people to hide under the great suffocating tunic of governmental deceit shall be ultimately and utterly cast out into a scorching realization that the world they had undervalued, expected, abused, was now one in which they, as the average man and woman, possessed nothing but utility and servile thoughts of every word before it is uttered. After America spent the past two decades seeking to move away from an all inclusive government, we are about to embark on a quest, The Second Republic; headlong into a Dictocracy.

I would be the last one to try to diminish all that Television and the Internet have given to the world, for good. I do believe the good outweighs the bad. Nevertheless, such wonderful sources of information and entertainment have given us an auberge where we can hide from the real world and cease to worry, or to be responsible to the place where we truly dwell. No, This lethargic people, this land of good and fickle masses has been awakened to see that all they worked for, all that they had achieved, the very source of survival into their years has been seized by those who were greedy and shameless.

Then, enters Congress, this group of thugs, those who not only think we are stupid, but are sure of it. They cannot be accused of so much under-the-table maneuvering, for they steal us blind, right under our noses. Now that Congress and the White House have made this weakened people see a future, for which the government, itself, is a co-conspirator, it is obvious the American people are Impoverished to such an extent that they feel the all consuming need to depend on the Government for every need. America has believed a lie.

How will those of us live in a world where, as he proposed, Obama will regulate the coordination of the development of life-saving drugs, supposedly to eliminate overlap of research for those studies that the Federal government funds. This is code language for the Quality of Life trumpeters who want to decide when a person should live or die. Every evil leader enslaved a people, and he accomplished it by taking away the people’s base of support and removing their source of survival, rendering a brave and powerful people at the mercy of a beast in Washington. So, are you surprised that our leaders do exactly what they know will not work?

In Holland, Freedom Party leader Geert Wilders posted the video of Fitna, which he had produced to expose the violent nature of Islam and the threat it poses to the West. Soon afterwards, the BBC and other news outlets reported that a Dutch court has ordered Wilders to be prosecuted for making the film. The Dutch court stated, “The Amsterdam appeals court has ordered the prosecution of member of parliament Geert Wilders for inciting hatred and discrimination, based on comments by him in various media on Muslims and their beliefs,” The court went on to say, “The court also considers appropriate criminal prosecution for insulting Muslim worshippers because of comparisons between Islam and Nazism made by Wilders,” The court also stated that, “In a democratic system, hate speech is considered so serious that it is in the general interest to… draw a clear line.” I am sure you are saying, “Thank God I live in America where it isn’t (yet) a crime to insult someone.”

Consider this; the laws on which the court charged the Dutch conservative political leader were not Dutch laws at all, but were anti-hate crimes written and enforced by the World Court of the United Nations. Europe adheres to such laws, though America has never honored them, at least until now. All conservative forces expect Barack Obama to write new hate-crime rules and laws into authority by Executive decree or through the Democratically-controlled Congress. In Fact, he does not even need to endure either of those maneuvers. He can simply decide that it is the position on the United States of America that our country shall give respect to World Court and adhere to its rulings, and it is sure that he will do so, all wrapped up in the mantle of protecting freedom and unity of the world for peace.

Five minutes after Obama took the reins of power, the official White House website took on an Orwellian slant by stating the Obama Administration intended to institute hate-crime legislation that would make it a crime to criticize gays by merely stating our opposition to the idea of same-gender relationships. Here are some excerpts of Obama’s agenda as described openly on the White House website:

"While we have come a long way since the Stonewall riots in 1969, we still have a lot of work to do. Too often, the issue of LGBT (lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender community) rights is exploited by those seeking to divide us. But at its core, this issue is about who we are as Americans. It's about whether this nation is going to live up to its founding promise of equality by treating all its citizens with dignity and respect." -- Barack Obama, June 1, 2007
• Expand Hate Crimes Statutes: In 2004, crimes against LGBT Americans constituted the third-highest category of hate crime reported and made up more than 15 percent of such crimes. President Obama cosponsored legislation that would expand federal jurisdiction to include violent hate crimes perpetrated because of race, color, religion, national origin, sexual orientation, gender identity, or physical disability. As a state senator, President Obama passed tough legislation that made hate crimes and conspiracy to commit them against the law.

• Fight Workplace Discrimination: President Obama supports the Employment Non-Discrimination Act, and believes that our anti-discrimination employment laws should be expanded to include sexual orientation and gender identity. While an increasing number of employers have extended benefits to their employees' domestic partners, discrimination based on sexual orientation in the workplace occurs with no federal legal remedy. The President also sponsored legislation in the Illinois State Senate that would ban employment discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation.

• Support Full Civil Unions and Federal Rights for LGBT Couples: President Obama supports full civil unions that give same-sex couples legal rights and privileges equal to those of married couples. Obama also believes we need to repeal the Defense of Marriage Act and enact legislation that would ensure that the 1,100+ federal legal rights and benefits currently provided on the basis of marital status are extended to same-sex couples in civil unions and other legally-recognized unions. These rights and benefits include the right to assist a loved one in times of emergency, the right to equal health insurance and other employment benefits, and property rights.

• Oppose a Constitutional Ban on Same-Sex Marriage: President Obama voted against the Federal Marriage Amendment in 2006 which would have defined marriage as between a man and a woman and prevented judicial extension of marriage-like rights to same-sex or other unmarried couples.

• Repeal Don't Ask-Don't Tell: President Obama agrees with former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff John Shalikashvili and other military experts that we need to repeal the "don't ask, don't tell" policy. The key test for military service should be patriotism, a sense of duty, and a willingness to serve. Discrimination should be prohibited. The U.S. government has spent millions of dollars replacing troops kicked out of the military because of their sexual orientation. Additionally, more than 300 language experts have been fired under this policy, including more than 50 who are fluent in Arabic. The President will work with military leaders to repeal the current policy and ensure it helps accomplish our national defense goals.

• Expand Adoption Rights: President Obama believes that we must ensure adoption rights for all couples and individuals, regardless of their sexual orientation. He thinks that a child will benefit from a healthy and loving home, whether the parents are gay or not.

I for one will not let such lethal doses of totalitarian rule stop my voice, for it would take a gun or a knife to do so. I would lay down my life for a lesbian, a gay, or any man or woman at all, if I found them in danger. Where do you stand? It will be this government, now at the helm of the world, which will seek to make us all afraid to speak by passing laws that bind their words to one pattern of thought. This constitutes a dictatorship wrapped up in democratic virtue. America Has Believed A Lie!

So, there are two ways to enslave a people, Impoverish them to such an extent that they depend on the Government for every need and make them afraid to speak by passing laws that bind their tongues to one pattern of thought, at first ridiculing those who think outside the “Norm” and then imposing the government’s will in case that will certainly be challenged but never undermined. This constitutes a dictatorship wrapped up in democratic virtue. America Has Believed A Lie!

Recently, Senator Chuck Schumer of New York nonchalantly declared “The American People Don't Care” about Pork Projects in the Stimulus Bill:

Senator Schumer, you are right, the American People don’t mind the Pork in the Stimulus because Congress and the White House are the American People now, and we are your slaves. So my fellow bleating lambs,

Welcome to the Dictocracy...

Have a driven desire to know? Have Ears To Hear? Have Eyes To See?

Nimrod Rising - As Real As It Gets!

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Author Steven Clark Bradley Talks About Patriot Acts

2009-02-05T22:52:46+01:00

Patriot Acts by Steven Clark Bradley

I worked a number of years in various countries in Europe, Asia, and Africa. I have had the privilege of living a unique life and have been to 34 countries over a period of 16 years. Having worked extensively with Kurdish refugees from Turkey, Iraq, and Syria, I have first-hand knowledge of the hatred and the anger that many Middle-Eastern nations have toward America, as well as the culture and attitudes. So, I have had the opportunity to explain what is leading this nation to possible destruction without real and concerted efforts to preserve our way of life. I am grateful for the experience I have gained through the many amazing opportunities I have had around the world. I know that where much is given, much will be expected. So, I have an inner responsibility to use my knowledge and experience to wake up those who don’t feel the danger

The Inspiration For Patriot Acts

I know there are very good arguments against the war in Iraq, some of which I agree with. Yet, there has always been one driving view that has kept me supporting that effort; the need to make sure that terrorism is defeated and to take our war to the terrorists rather than again letting them come here. Patriot Acts is a story that supports the idea of what political and national lethargy will wrought in this nation.

I want my writing to be a gauge of where we are in light of where we were, historically, which sheds light on where we will be, depending on our response to the threats we face. No one and no nation is in a vacuum. America is changing and it is important to remind people of what this nation was founded to be and to make them remember the values on which we were founded. I think I accomplished that well in my third novel, Nimrod Rising and I think Patriot Acts takes a giant step at revealing what years of inaction and pretending that all is fine will ultimately do to threaten America’s future. So, I feel that I want to entertain, but most of all, I want to stimulate Americans to once again take our freedom seriously and to no longer take it for granted.

I got a really good head start on Patriot Acts. Early last year, even before Patriot Acts was signed by a publisher, I began to publish excerpts and to make sure readers got a taste of this powerful story. I also prepared video trailers and posted them early to give a visual image of the story, from several different perspectives. I also began to post my material on several different blogs, but made sure I created a blog specifically for Patriot Acts itself, which is called Steven Clark Bradley's Patriot Acts. A writer today cannot expect anyone to do the hard work for them. They also cannot become discouraged by the lack of obvious signs of reader interest. I have found that there are always more people reading our work than we can easily know. So, all the ground work on Patriot Acts has already been done. Now, I can recycle and add new material to drive home to readers that there is a new book out there that is different and very close to reality, perhaps too close for comfort.

Patriot Acts Is Definitely a Story that Reads You!

All of my books contain so much from my experiences and my moral and social world view. The first three chapters of Patriot Acts, though fiction, reflect actual experiences I lived through, which I have used to paint the picture of a nation at grave risk. I think a good writer must get the drive, the plot, the atmosphere of their stories from things they have either studied or lived. So, I would say that the first three chapters represent my actual travels and actions, but my moral and political values are captured throughout the book.

Read An Excerpt From Patriot Acts Click The Link Below

Patriot Acts - Last Ounce of Devotion

Northern Indiana - 2009

The larger towns and small cities around the Podunk spot of Earth that was Toto, Indiana were the fastest growing small cities of the state. Knox, Indiana was the County Seat and had progressed from the “Bloody Bucket Bar” to the “Court House View Tap”. No one was being thrown out of the windows anymore, but the same crazies still drank their fill but were too old to carouse any longer like they used to. The almost town place, North Judson still had a sense of the rustic and, like Knox, was a fundamentally good place to bring up the next generation of defenders of the Constitution, at least that was how they mostly viewed it along Toto Road, the one road that entirely spanned the county. Staying on Toto Road was like a place of refuge. One could traverse the county, into the depth of this country enclave and still feel secure inside their car.

Thoughts of turning left or right off of Toto Road could only be carried out safely by those born in Starke County. Strangers are not too well digested in the land of a thousand armies. The folks around Toto, Indiana did not like them strangers coming in there and looking all over their Jeeps, gawking at their arsenals all set up for the day that the United States Government would most certainly tear up the Constitution and cast it to the wind. The globalists elected to the offices of the land, down from the most menial, elected position in the nation and up to the most powerful office in the world, would most certainly need to be overcome by the people’s sheer willingness to keep what they had yearned and striven for. Almost every car was known that drove up in there. Today was no different in road traffic than any other, except for the special passenger that the old Ford Escort was carrying, as it turned off Indiana Highway 35 North and onto Toto Road heading due west.

~~~

Though Len Garret’s father was a feared and respected memory, that painting over the fireplace served more as a constant reminder that he had unfinished business to conduct than as an act of true feeling for the old man about whom even Len Garret himself had wondered a few times if his father Russell Garret had gone mad.

“Even so, if Dad was crazy then guess the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”Len Garret thought as his eyes grew heavy. His father’s greatest wish would be realized, starting today…everything would start today.

~~~

He knew he was young, just Seventeen years old seated there in the grand hall waiting for something, a ruling, a judgment. He was not exactly a child, but except in such cases as this boy, most children his age still never thought about such things. He only knew that his moment had come too early. He wanted to kill them all one minute and run home and play his half-life video game, the next. His mind now knew that his day of games was over. He knew he would see his death, and now forcefully knew that childhood was not a never-ending run and that he was a child no more, for he knew he would die. . .

Click one of the links below to get your own copy of

Patriot Acts and read all of this powerful novel.

Where Can You Get Your Copy Of Patriot Acts?

I am really happy with my new publisher for Patriot Acts. This new exciting novel is easy to find and available all over the net. Here are a few links to help you secure you own copy of Patriot Acts.

Patriot Acts (Print Version) at Amazon,com

Patriot Acts (Print Version) at Cambridge Books

Patriot Acts (Electronic Version) at Ebooks on the net

Patriot Acts (Electronic Version) at Amazon.com

Patriot Acts (Electronic Version) at Fictionwise.com

Patriot Acts (Electronic Version) at Mobipocket.com

Here are three Video Trailers for patriot Acts:

Patriot Acts (Extended)

Patriot Acts - The Enemy of My Enemy Is My Friend

Patriot Acts - Special Handling

You can read more of Steven Clark Bradley's work
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Cambridge Books Presents Patriot Actsby Author, Steven Clark Bradley

2009-01-27T16:47:36+01:00

For Immediate Release

Purchase Information:

www.amazon.com

www.booksurge.com

Direct From Publisher:

Fax purchase information

With Credit Card Information to:

(410) 221-7510

ISBN-10: 1594316937

ISBN-13: 978-1594316937

http://www.writewordsinc.com/patriot-acts-p.html

Author Contact:

Steven Clark Bradley

1900 Fullerton Road # 85

Rowland Heights, CA. 91748

(626) 715-7140

scbradley_2000us@yahoo.com

Bradley.steven@gmail.com

Cambridge Books Presents Patriot Actsby Author, Steven Clark Bradley

February 1, 2009 – Cambridge Books is proud to present Patriot Acts by Author, Steven Clark Bradley of Rowland Heights, California.

Today, America faces enemies that make the world of the Cold War seem like much brighter times. Islamic forces have declared Jihad on America causing the greatest threat to the United States since World War II.

“We are proud to have published Steven Clark Bradley’s book, especially in these times.” said Arline Chase, his publisher. “Today, it is more important than ever for Americas to be aware of the dangers our country faces. Yes, this book is fictional. But, its premise is certainly a plausible one.”

In Patriot Acts, America finds itself under covert nuclear attack from a unified force of the Islamic Republic of Iran and radical American Militia groups; setting aside their political and religious differences to carry out the widest and deadliest attack on America in the nation's history. Only one person can effectively retaliate against their aggression, Fisher Harrison, the best trained Special Ops killer the military has who is in a federal prison, framed by his former boss, now the President of the United States of America for a murder he did not commit.

From Alaska to the heart of the Islamic Republic of Iran, read about two unified enemies seek to bring down The United States of America, while two others bond to save her. You will be amazed how plausible this story is and you will be shocked by how close to reality it truly could be!

Steven Clark Bradley has been to or lived in 34 countries, including Pakistan, Iraq and Turkey. He has a master’s degree in liberal studies from Indiana University. He speaks French and Turkish. He has been an assistant to a prosecutor, a university instructor and a freelance journalist. Steven is also the author of three other novels titled Probable Cause, Stillborn and Nimrod Rising.

Cambridge Books a subsidiary of Write Words, Inc. is dedicated to providing quality reading in both electronic and paper formats. They published more than 40 paperback books last year, and more than 65 electronic books. Each of them was carefully selected by a committee of published authors.

Mr. Bradley is available for interviews by phone or in person at any time. He can be contacted either by mail, e-mail or by phone with the contact information listed above. Thank you for your interest.

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Some Cool Sites from Steven Clark Bradley

2009-01-22T09:34:15+01:00

I have given three of my blogs a brand new look.
I hope you'll click the links below and visit them.

Steven Clark Bradley's Underground Controversy

Steven Clark Bradley's Stories That Read You!

Steven Clark Bradley's Patriot Acts
_______________________________________________________________________
Here are some other great blogs where you can read more of
Steven Clark Bradley's writing:

Author Steven Clark Bradley
From The Mind of Steven Clark Bradley
Steven Clark Bradley @ Inspired Author
Steven Clark Bradley - Nikki Leigh Virtual Book Tours
Steven Clark Bradley @ The Power of The Written Word
Steven Clark Bradley @ Communati.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Blogtalk Radio.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Facebook
Steven Clark Bradley @ Twitter.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Xanga.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Amazon.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ yuku.com
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Steven Clark Bradley @ Words That Work
Steven Clark Bradley @ Goodreads.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Myspace.com

No Unconditional Talks Just
Patriot Acts! Get Your Copy Of Patriot Acts
Today At:
Patriot Acts At Mobipocket.com Patriot Acts @ Amazon.com
Patriot Acts @ebooksonthe.net

All of Steven Clark Bradley's novels are widely available all over the net. Here are a few links to help you read these exciting stories now.

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StillBorn - Memories of The Dead by Steven Clark Bradley

2009-01-11T19:25:03+01:00

StillBorn
Mobipocket.com
ebooksonthe.net Amazon.com

Nothing grips the heart of a person than the thoughts of the person we have lost. In this excerpt from the novel Stillborn by Steven Clark Bradley, Wallace Findings finds himself in the midst of a heart-rending dream about the woman he loves, the woman he found dead eighteen years earlier. He is trapped in his mind and in his little chamber of horrors as he repeats his ritual dream of how she she died, how he met her and how he still believed the true killer was still out there. As you read this powerful portion of the riveting story, feel the pain of loss and the internal need to put this evil chapter in his life to rest. The one thing that pushes Wallace Findings to find his lover's slayer is not so much her life as it is her horrible death, as he replays his:

Memories of The Dead

October 17, 2006, 10:42 p.m.

Former Inspector Wallace Findings lay in his self-imposed slumber, sprawled clumsily across his bed, his palms open and a bottle of escaped pills reposed next to his left hand where they had managed to release themselves from their tubular prison. He had found sleep to be hazardous to his mental health these days; for than 6500 days at least. He had almost eighteen years of calendars to remind him of the event that had imposed such a life of malaise upon him. Yet, tonight, this self-condemned nasty piece of work was sound a sleep tonight, and on such a night as this.

This night had brought it all back right into the center of his mental vision. He could not stop recalling how he had found her and how she had died. Out his window the looming image of the sears tower was illuminated in the distance, with the two antennas flashing their red beacons. It was a clear night. The same could not be said for Wallace Findings’ head. The sacredness of the night, the lights from the towering metal monstrosity shining through his window and the malaise in his head made it almost add up to a hypnotic state. What Wallace Findings had experienced was a mental shut down for the sleep-deprived. Yet, for Wallace Findings, even his sleep tormented him with dreams that usually provoked excursions into sheer and utter depression, in effect, memories of her. Tonight, especially, would prove to be a night of dreams of reflection on things better regarded as having never occurred. Yet, there in front of Findings’ closed and tense eyes was the scene just as he had found it; just as he had found her. The same feeling as having his guts wretched right out of him came over Wallace as the autobiographical replay of diabolically evil actions filled Findings’ mind; pressing and crowding out all other more rational thoughts and images from his guilt-ridden mind.

As his mind raced behind the veil of sleep, Wallace Findings, her man, her fellow survivor, her mate and the only one she had truly deceived was this shell of a man seeing it in his dreams and what he saw was too vivid, too real because it had been real and that made it all the more authentic now. He was looking down at her. He remembered having only done that on two very different occasions; when he made love to her and when he had found her dead.

Deep within Findings’ brain dwelt a picture of a tragedy beyond any possible personal loss he could have ever imagined losing. Tonight, he could see it all over again. The greatest torment of all though, yes stronger than any other diabolical part of the memory was the latent speculation that perhaps Wallace Findings had not done it himself.

Mercilessly, the slumbering vision forced Wallace to see her there with that look of utter despair. Wallace saw himself looking down on her body, lifeless and cold. Wallace saw his hands slide under his downward gazing eyes. There was no blood. She had hemorrhaged from within and so had he for the last eighteen years. The feelings, the pain, the anger, the loss of the woman he had truly loved forced Wallace to aggressively squeeze his dreaming eyes tightly shut. When he had fully descended into that habitual dream, with his eyes staring at the back of his eyelids like some hideous bloody screen in a cinematic theatre, he found that his dream had taken him elsewhere.

The place was quiet. It was serene and dreadful with a scent of death n the air. It was large home; so many people there? Findings understood where it was because he had replayed it so many times during both his waking and sleeping hours. It was her funeral. Then the landscape changed in his mental picture again and Wallace could see himself being questioned by the police, he himself a comrade in arms.

“Wall, I put in a special request to do this investigation inquiry with you. I know you well and I thought it might be easier this way.”

“Thanks Doc; you are a good friend.”

“How are you hanging in there? Is there anything I can do for you on a personal level?”

“You can blow my brains out so I will stop seeing her like that in my mind!”

“I am so sorry for all of that my friend. You are a good cop, a good friend and were a great partner for Susan. Nevertheless, shall we get started? You reported that you were out of town the night before? For the record, could you tell me why and where you were?”

“I was assigned to a special task force and we had a meeting…Why? I truly don’t know why. If I had only declined the assignment!”

“Wall, you guys ever argue?”

“Yea, sure! You and your woman never did, Doc?”

“We did every chance we got till she…!”

“Sorry Doc, I didn’t mean to…”

“That’s okay, Wall, I’ve done my grieving and have done enough already. Let’s get you past yours first.”

“Well, to answer your question sir, we’ve had some of our best sex after one of her over-boards!”

“One of her what, Wall?”

“One of her over-boards. That’s what I called it when she was unable to maintain her self-control and sort of went over-board. Look, she was a fine woman, but she was a gutsy Latin nonetheless and I would have died for her without regard for myself! They would have had to slice me in half to get her from me, understood?”

“Yea, Wall understood. Just doing my job Wall, you know that?”

“Okay, Okay! I got ya! Doc, I want in the case!” Findings asked Doc.

“Now Wallace, you know that is out of protocol! Remember her for who you loved her as! Let us take care of this ugliness and you go and give Susan a good sending off. She loved you I think, not that I would even know what that feels like anymore, really!”

“Thanks Doc! Don’t let me down!”

“Come on Wall! You remember all those problems you had getting into the force because of your crooked feet? I liked you then and I like you now! So, do yourself a favor and go away for a while, anywhere…just out of here. We will catch the pervert who did this! We will, I swear!”

***

As Wallace Findings’ nocturnal images carried him into his fateful memories, he again looked up and saw the quiet, serene big house. She was there in that hideous box. Wallace felt the sudden, ever so slight thought sprint through his head in wonder if he had done that to her? Certainly, he had not protected her adequately and had let his guard down. Everything had seemed to have become so normal. Susan had moved in with him. They seemed good together; at least for the three short months they had been together. Findings had noticed that the guy upstairs was strange and Findings knew he had seen him somewhere else, but only after the awful-awful, had he understood that the man named Richard Trember who had moved upstairs had been her pimp before Findings took in and the sex trader was keeping an eye on his investment. Trember had been instantly charged with the murder, but to Wallace Findings it all seemed too clean; too professional for such a low-life as Trember; somehow too convenient. Wallace had never believed it was Trember who had really killed her. Even so, tonight Trember would die for Susan’s murder, but it changed nothing in Finding’s mind or in his dreams.

Findings always wondered about those hands he constantly saw in his dreams; hands displayed under his downward-gazing eyes. They seemed so clean, so steady, and so…professional. They were not the hands of a low-life drunk and burned-out types like the bug-man, Trember.

As if an adverse wind blew into Findings’ dream, the scene changed again and Wallace was now looking down at the woman he had loved lying in a box that would soon be placed in a permanent hole so prematurely. He had no idea that she had simply failed to tell him the most important news of his life, and when she had tried to, she died for it.

Findings heard her voice in the dream and turned his head in the direction of the sound of her voice he had so clearly heard. He saw or heard nothing until suddenly…

“Wallace, be a father to the fatherless! I loved you too.”

That time Wallace Findings saw himself seated in his chair during her funeral with his eyes rudely reddened by the thoughts and the reality of his life having been torn apart. As of yet, he had not known how much. Undeterred by the voices going through his head, Wallace saw himself again rising to speak the words that he had hoped he’d never have to say. Wallace watched through the eyes of his dream and heard all the words he had spoken about her in front of the artificially large crowd. Wallace knew that all the officers had come more for him than for her. There were not too many ex-prostitutes who had had so many of Chicago’s Finest in blue attend their funerals. They all knew who she had been, but they all agreed that such a beautiful woman should never lose her life so early. Findings’ solemn moment was overtaken by the feeling of falling and he woke up for a brief moment. Quickly, he reacted by grabbing the sheets to keep himself from tumbling downward. Findings opened and closed his eyes tightly again and he saw it all where he had left off. The pain of his shattered heart gripped him and the disaster of it all overtook him like those old images of nuclear test blasts when the fireball bowled over anything that stood in its way. It all felt so real as it replayed behind his closed, slumbering and heartrending eyes.

He stood before his friends, those who had sought to mend him and hold him together in that time that had been really no more difficult than the past eighteen years. “I’ve been a police officer for a few years now. I’ve seen a good deal of unfairness out there, even evil itself, as many of you here tonight have witnessed as well. But, in all the injustice I have seen in this heartless land, I have never seen such a complete horror as the sad and senseless death of this fine woman. Oh, I know that many of you thought I was crazy to be with her. Thank you for standing by me anyway, I will never forget it. Yet, I got to know Susan Chacon. She was a real woman, had a heart of gold and just wanted to be happy.

She would always call herself ‘trouble’ She would often say, “Wallace, I am just trouble. I’m not worth all the trouble.” Findings looked over at the coffin holding the body of the only woman he had ever loved.

“Susan, the only trouble you ever were for me was leaving me so early! I will miss you. I could have helped her! Now, I pledge to you, I will find who did this evil thing to you! I will know it when I find him too, then you can come looking for me and I won’t even put up a fight! I will not rest until I do!” He had not slept a full night since. “I love you Susan!”

***

As Findings slept tossing, turning and crying in his sleep, out in the corridor of Findings’ building an ominous figure in a long black leather trench coat and dark glasses grabbed hold of the door knob that opened up into the corridor that led the way to Wallace Findings’ apartment. Behind him were muddy footprints that indicated a fairly crooked set of feet had made them. Findings would have believed he had made them himself. Quietly, but in a slightly uncaring manner he entered Findings’ apartment. He’d spend a bit of time in getting to know this fallen keeper of the peace. He came to the small hallway that led to the bedroom that had become Findings’ virtual sphere of activity. He saw some pictures hanging on the wall. One of them was with Findings and his partner whom the invader had met before. He felt the lines of his own face while his eyes researched the picture’s lines. He looked at Findings’ feet. They were not straight, but nothing as pronounced as the intruder’s own paws. The unwelcome guest was disgusted a bit with that.

The man turned his attention to the bedroom that had a light shining from under the door. He opened the door and saw Findings sprawled across the mattress. He went into the closet that held her pretty things; much the same way they had been some 18 years before. He saw a trunk in the corner. The intruder took some items from his pockets and opened the trunk and placed them inside. He closed the closet and walked over to the shell of the man who was portrayed in the pictures hanging in the hallway as a former Sergeant attached to the profiling unit. That strong, tough-looking man lay passed out on his bed. The intruder bent over the bed and began to whisper a name in Findings’ ear as he had done the last three times he had visited the drug-laden former Chicago police officer.

“It’s time to get Phaire, Jeffrey Phaire, Wallace.”

He looked at Wallace Findings and bent down and kissed him on his cheek.

“I hate so much being alone.” the intruder whispered to himself.

“I know you hate it too. Just deal with it!”

He turned and made his way out of the room the same way he had invaded it and quietly uttered that name again, “Jeffery Phaire!”

***

Still in a deep sleep, a name and a menacing voice that accompanied it kept reverberating in Findings’ head.

“Jeffrey Phaire! Jeffery Phaire!”

It was as though someone had been whispering it in his ear constantly.

“No!” whimpered the hollow shell of a man that was strewn across the disheveled mattress.

“Phaire!” “Phaire!” “Phaire!” “Phai…” Findings’ eyes forced themselves open and he screamed out.

"Alright! I’m listening!"

Wallace Findings jumped to his feet to meet the twisting, twirling world of two chairs, beer cans and the same throbbing headache in the back of his head where some fatty tumor had grown. He was sure it was a clump of over-worked nerves.

The former Chicago Police force Sergeant of the Profiling Unit fell back to the bed and felt around for his bottle of pills. Those round tablets seemed like his only friends anymore, though they didn’t help like they used to.

Wallace Findings had been a good cop, a solid cop and right now that stupid name was going through his head as it had for the past three nights. Every time the hollow voice began to echo in his head as Mr. Sandman did his thing. The name sort of rose from beyond and would spring up and slap him across his face.

At first, he did not pay much attention to it. Now, against his own better judgment, he would lay there waiting for its proclamation. It had become an obsession; a preoccupation; the only occupation he had anymore. It had to be some kind of omen, a message, perhaps from her. Perhaps out of justice for her. Could it be a neatly tucked away name of some goon that Sergeant Findings had arrested, sent up or had been forced to eradicate? Like a mental phantom, which had refused to stay put, that name attacked him like some personage without a face escaping from the deep regions of the sub-conscientious. It bugged him. It drove him mad and his detective brain did not have enough sense to let go of it.

Findings jumbled around on the nightstand beside his bed. He found the lamp but not before losing his patience and sending the phone to the other side of the room. He flipped on the radio and picked up his bottle of narcotic friends. He peered intently into the bottle with one red eye, readying himself for his daily display of loyalty to the legal dope that kept him from exploding. He struggled to his feet and gathered up the telephone. As he picked it up and placed the receiver back in place. It instantly began to ring. Wallace Findings was so startled that he dropped the phone again and he heard a voice calling out his name. He almost tumbled forward headfirst as he bent down to pick it up.

“Yea! Whatever you want, I am not in the mood, so…”

Across the street at a pay phone a man in a long black trench coat began to speak.

“Well, get yourself in the mood then Wallace!”

“Who is this?”

“Someone you wish you knew! Listen, to me Findings.”

“You have a good reason why I should…?”

“Why is your room always such a mess?”

“Who the hell…?”

Findings put the phone on the speaker and emptied out the contents of the bottle into his right hand. The pills formed a narcotic collage of sorts. Findings scooted them around in his palm, some over-the-counter things, a couple of volumes, and three Zanex tablets. He had a full bottle of Prozac in the bathroom cabinet, but he never took them. He was addicted to depression and could not risk being relieved of it. Findings took one of the Zanex in his left hand and hurled it into the air while opening his quivering lips under the descending tablet.

"This is a consecrated night is it not? Trember and I both escape our world tonight. Yep, you really think they got the right guy who killed precious Susan?”

When Findings heard the caller’s words he turned toward the phone and the tablet he had hurled into the air fell on top of his head and plummeted to the floor. The idea of any devotion or remorse whatsoever for this killer was way out of the question. There were too many others somewhere out there just like Trember, ready to take life away to satisfy their depraved tastes.

"He’s not going to be here anymore but I will be, though he really doesn’t know me. I too am a killer and I always give better than I get. Just ask that ugly whore sister I slew here just a little while back.”

“Just who are you anyway? What do you want?”

“Want? Who am I? I want legitimacy! I want an identity! I want a life! You have a school record? I don’t! You have a birthday? Well, I don’t! I do not exist and I want to make sure the whole world knows I am, that I wasn’t stillborn; especially, one Jeffery Phaire!”

Findings heard that name again and seemed to gain lucidity that he had not known for some time.

“Phaire? Who is that guy? How do you know that name? Better yet, how do I know that name?”

“Oh, he is no one of significance except for the fact that he stole my life! He took what should have been mine! Now, I want him to pay and to wear my crooked shoes for a while! Don’t worry, you’ll hear so much more about it all, I promise! Then there was my dear old mom! Now that was a real trip! They did me without firing a shot and believe me, this is not the life, which I would have ever wanted in the first place! You don’t kill what was offered to you freely. There’d be no challenge in that at all. Never mind Wallace, just carry on and get over it at last! You’ll know me when you see us over there my man. Just keep the faith until the game’s over!"

Findings came to himself and realized that he had a weird, stricken gawking look spread across his face. Perhaps he didn’t need any stuff tonight. He felt he was already hallucinating.

“Thank you Inspector. Wallace, you-who, are ya out there?”

“Yea, I’m here, who are you?”

“That’s not important right now, but you’ll know me soon enough! I saw you there tonight. Tonight’s the night isn’t it tough guy? There will be one less killer on the roam. Or were you the killer and just feeling guilty cause someone’s gonna die for what you did? Get it out of your head! Cause you did not do it! But, then neither did Trember. Guess I gotta do all the work for us both now! Of course there’s always the other one too, the one who really did your woman, I mean. You got the wrong guy Inspector. It doesn’t really matter, though it is a bit ironic. The dude Trember got away with his trophies, but is gonna die for one he didn’t do. What indifferent justice! I’ll never be far away though, because it is as though I’m right behind your eyes. So tonight Inspector, we both get a rush! Yet, his needle will fail to give you psychological justice. You know the dude is still out there. See ya soon. By the way, clean up your room."

“Wait!” Findings exclaimed. “I can see something! I know you did something awful recently. What did you do?”

The man at the other end of the line at first panicked and then realized that it did not matter anyway.

“Well, Inspector, how about you tell me. You one of those gifted ones or something? If so, is that inherited, by chance?”

“I see a cross dipped in blood and two women dead on the floor. You killed them didn’t you? They hurt you didn’t they? I know you! I feel I know you!”

“Wow, Wallace, you are very good! Very good indeed! Just hold your fire. You’ll hear from me again. Until then, get some rest. You’re going to be busy. See you later!”

The phone clicked and went dead and the man outside walked down the street in no predetermined direction. It was just the manner in which he walked that created dread in his wake; with his long flowing hair, black trench coat, black grunge boots and dark shades. His walk shouted out to any who might have the misfortune to meet him along his way, “I was a slave, an unknown, a non-existent, but now I’m free, I’m hungry for retribution, I’m lethal to the bone and I will have my life back!”

Findings bent down to pick up the pill that had collided with the floor. With shaking hands he plopped it into his mouth. He lifted an almost empty bottle of Bicardi to his mouth to chase down the drugs. His shaking hand shook the alcohol out before it reached his lips and all over him. Findings stuck himself with his pocketknife to be sure that he was really awake. The resulting issue of blood assured him that he was indeed in the world of the living. He was both relieved and disappointed. Yet, it was all so impossible, but in his hard of hearts he knew everything was possible for the killing kind.

Findings took out a cigarette and placed the length of it under his nose as he ritualistically always did. The sweet smell helped him to pay no attention to the habit that he knew was killing him. There were so many other nasty habits, drink, drugs, insomnia but the most lethal of all, memories.

As a cop, Wallace Findings had truly helped many a poor destitute soul. He had saved many, but the recollections of diced-up bodies, horrific faces of victims and the immune, benign expressions of the monsters of his no-return, hapless and apathetic generation caused bitterness and distrust to firmly implant its roots into his soul. The society he had sworn to protect had given up long ago and had lost its will to preserve any semblance of sanity. Its protectors had become like the ones they had sought. The only thing that separated the good guys from the bad ones was a badge that remained the only vestige of a long gone day of order. The streets belonged to the ghouls. He and his colleagues could only hope to keep the “normals" from the clutches of the "abnormals", and the lines between the two were so skewed.

Over the years, since her fate had been meted out on his bed, Findings had lost his touch at imagination. All of his socks were black. They could go with anything. He had six pairs of guess blue jeans and seven flannel shirts for winter and seven black button-down shirts for spring and summer. It saved time, not having to make decisions about the mundane. He never took them off except to change into fresh ones. They were then immediately washed. He was not a grimy person. Especially, he was immaculate. She had been so too, his woman. They had fought over his apparent inability to clean the sink after a shave or to clean anything at all. He’d never change he had told himself, but he had. Yes, he became his own type of savior, all in memory of her. He had come to realize that he had been just as much a pain in the rear for her. He had cussed her out, left her for days and even threatened her from time to time. Yet, she had trusted him and he knew it.

He had tried to put the brakes on her wanderings. He knew what she had been and only imagined what she had been through. He loved her then, before she had been his, and had accepted her after. He had never told her so, but she knew it. Yet, he still did not like her taste for meat. She had silently understood what he had done for her and what she had done to him. There was a psychotic serenity about it all. Though she wanted her men, but she never wanted to hurt this man. Yet, he was a man and as it has been said; most great men are bad men. She loved the variety show in which she flaunted herself, but she needed him. Maybe that was love, quite possibly? He had brought some legitimacy to the whole charade that had been her life, at least in Wallace Findings’ memories of the dead.

Watch: Stillborn - When Existence and
Vengeance Become A Driving Force

All of Steven Clark Bradley's novels are widely available all over the net. Here are a few links to help you read these exciting stories now.

Amazon.com
booksamillion.com
powells.com
bordersstores.com
barnesandnoble.com
copperfields.com
Mobipocket.com
ebooksonthe.net

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New Video Trailer For Steven Clark Bradley's Novel - Stillborn

2008-12-24T09:02:36+01:00

Stillborn! When Existence and Vengeance Become A Driving Force

I would like to invite you to watch my new video inspired from my novel, Stillborn. Children who have been separated at birth usually feel great joy when at last they discover each other. It is not always so harmonious, though. The suspense/murder novel StillBorn! explores what can happen when an illegal adoption causes twins to be born without love and sold without remorse. One child is rejected and left in an orphanage without identity or care, facing brutal treatment and harsh physical and sexual abuse. His twin brother is adopted into a wonderful life. The result is bitterness and ruthless revenge with deadly repercussions. StillBorn! explores what a life of pain, suffering and abuse can do when a child is denied an existence and vengeance becomes a driving motivation. Humanity is relegated to nothing more than fair game! Stillborn is now also an e-book as well as in print. Read a story that will grip your heart as well as keep you wondering what will happen next! Anything can happen when Existence and Vengeance become a driving force...

Stillborn - When Existence and Vengeance Become A Driving Force

Steven Clark Bradley's Stories That Read You!
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Steven Clark Bradley - Published Authors.com
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Steven Clark Bradley - Nimrod Rising
Author Steven Clark Bradley

All of Steven Clark Bradley's novels are widely available all over the net. Here are a few links to help you read these exciting stories now.

Amazon.com
booksamillion.com
powells.com
bordersstores.com
barnesandnoble.com
copperfields.com
Mobipocket.com
ebooksonthe.net

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A sneak-Peak At Nimrod Rising - Beginning of Sorrows

2008-12-01T06:36:16+01:00

It all makes me feel so despondent; I mean I grew up in a land not really different than this one. It has seared my heart to have seen it all inside my mind, many years before it unfolded, before my eyes. It all made such perfect sense, to me, yet, alas to no one else. How the mighty have fallen!

1970 Dakar, Senegal, West Africa

“That which I feared most has come upon me!” thought Mbeng Fall. He stood at the edge of a precipice that looked straight down and out toward the ocean until land and water embraced and splashed headlong into Black Africa, at that very point. Mbeng Fall was nearly late for school every day; because of the lure of the endless horizon that made the young eighteen year old ponder on a great many things with great speculation about what lived on the other side. Of course he knew it was America, but he knew there was something he had to do there. He had seen it all, somewhere. It all had to be dreams in vivid color and she was always there. “Such a beautiful young thing,” Mbeng Fall said out loud in broken English. “Just ready to have herself for myself.” He said more loudly. Yet, even this mental video inside his head seemed to pale away only to hear that voice that always sounded so…so lethal. Mbeng could swear it was in the wind and not just in his head. Lately, that voice and those words had captured his every thought and wove any notion right back to the very thing roaring through his mind, at that very second.

“Yallah! Yallah! Get your cursed backs into it!” a hideous voice rang out and Mbeng turned instantly to see where the voice had come from, this time.

“Yallah Yallah!” a boy standing behind him shouted.

“Aliou! Why aren’t you in school?”

“Because of you! You late again and they gonna throw you out. Come on, let’s go!”

“One second, wey! Things … things are happening to me and I … I like it, but I know I shouldn’t.”

“Things …what kind of things? You got visions of killing people and leaving them for the vultures?”

“Well, not all the time, but more and more.”

“Mbeng, you are right! You got a problem, for sure!” They both looked at each other and burst into laughter, and the two of them took off across the open field as Mbeng continued looking back over his shoulder at the distant horizon. His brain and his loins wanted to see her again. “Aliou, see there?” Aliou looked out straight ahead. “Aliou, you sure do act like a Toobob!” Mbeng noted. He pulled his arm up to his eyes and looked at the black and hairless skin that was as purely, richly black as snow is richly white. “I guess it’s only a color, nothing more. Them Toobobs you live with make you one of them?”

Aliou stopped his march toward the class for which they had only ten minutes to be on time. Aliou turned toward Mbeng Fall. Mbeng grabbed the sides of his head and tried to shake himself lose from the extreme compulsion to rip Aliou’s head right off his shoulders.
Aliou approached Mbeng and looked at him intently and it almost shook the boy as he saw something very … wicked in Mbeng’s eyes. Aliou kept his eyes on Mbeng and spoke to him. “My brother, I know where my life came from. These people are good to me. They love me, and …and they love you too. But I am like mbok mu nul, like black water, pure and clean, so clean they washed out all the white!” Mbeng watched Aliou and burst out laughing. “You say I crazy? Brother, Aliou, you ain’t even right!”

They both stopped walking again and stopped laughing and their faces grew, somber.

“Mbeng, I know there is a mark on you.” Mbeng glanced immediately upward, but his face rose slowly, as though sensing danger. “It is clear to me, and it has made me sure that I am a door, for some reason, I see it in you … who you are … what you shall be, and be it holy or impure, be it evil and diabolical, I will be at your side!” Mbeng took in the words and seemed to taste them before responding to them.

He looked into Aliou’s face and Mbeng Fall smiled and picked up his backpack. “Aliou, get our going, or they’ll have our black asses.” They pounded fists and hustled the rest of the way. Mbeng only looked back over the ocean one more time.

~~~

“OK class, yesterday, I gave you an assignment, right class?” the lovely dark-haired white American teacher wasn’t much older than these seniors seated before her, whom Rachel Saul was sure lusted after her, on a daily basis, especially this one who she thought was already good looking. What the heck, the teacher thought. It gets them to class!
“Mbeng, would you please tell us who the father your nation is.”
Mbeng looked up and saw her eyes and his mouth moved but his mind was fixed on the pretty white thing standing in front of him. “Um … President Sangor, Miss Saul.” he finally uttered. He knew he had that one right. He knew none of them were from amongst his people, not exactly … not at all.

“What’s wrong with you, boy!” Rachel Saul screamed. Mbeng’s head snapped to attention and he saw the pretty thing moving aggressively toward him. “Sangor is not the master! Where the hell do you come up with such garbage as that!” she shouted. Mbeng stood up and looked around the class with pleading eyes. “You have a calling, Mbeng!” Rachel screamed and ripped open the front of her dress, revealing her breasts barely covered by her bra.

“Here, Mbeng, take me right here!” Mbeng looked into the eyes that stared back at him and every other student in his class was drained of consciousness, frozen in indifference. “Come on, can’t you see what’s going on here?” Mbeng pleaded with his classmates.

“Flood me with your seed, the seed of the master, Mbeng Fall!” Rachel Saul demanded. Mbeng refused and backed up quickly toward the back of the room, as he saw students rising from their desks and walking toward him. “Their faces! What the …?”

“It’s time to die, Mbeng Fall” the teacher shouted. “But, not before you spread your seed! Tonight, you shall be granted the Lot. It is yours to take into Eternity!” Rachel Star said, as she drew closer to Mbeng.

The students with Rachel Saul, at the head of the pack, drew in close to him and Rachel’s skin turned black and the putrid smell of sulfur filled the classroom, with his classmates’ eyes glowing yellow and their skin like leather. The teacher came close to him and Mbeng dropped his head in fear and shielded his head under his arms. He felt the whole class of evil Watchers gathered around him and placing him in total darkness until Mbeng Fall took a deep breath and hurled a deafening and horrifying cry.

“Leave me alone!” Mbeng Fall screamed and finely tuned his ears to the sudden sound of the clash of clanging metal and the voice of someone screaming out orders; in his own voice.

“Yallah! Yallah! Get your cursed backs into it!” a hideous voice rang out, echoing off three immense walls. “If we fail the Master, he will surely come and rip each of your souls right out of their abode and cast you all into the abyss, the last stop before the depths of Tenebre! Allah has designated it and here, it is to be consummated, cast it out of the depths of the Earth and place it into the fertile ground where it shall rise up from Tenebre and consume the whole Earth, to infect the planet with the loss of faith!”

Mbeng raised his head, opened his eyes and heard himself barking out orders as his eyes gazed out over at the waves of historic earth being hurled into the sky by hordes of enslaved villagers, all in a trancelike force, digging straight down into the Earth. He gazed around at the massive walls that were wide at the base but became progressively narrower, toward the top, where all three shafts converged into a dome, a summit that provided a glance into the ancient world that had been there before the extension.

Mbeng Fall’s face was youthful and the word meager could describe the beard he wore, but he spoke with bleakness and with an authority that seemed to him that Mbeng Fall was not there anymore; and indeed he wasn’t. Inside Mbeng Fall’s head, which ported a turban, his mind went back to a time that he was not entirely sure that he had actually ever lived. In fact, his words rang true. For what Mbeng Fall’s eyes saw passing before him were, in reality, the thoughts and memories of the evil, blackened and charred Watcher that had its clawed hand embedded into the back of Mbeng Fall’s head.

The young, eighteen year old knew something had happened to him. He was perplexed and dismayed, but Mbeng Fall was aware that he was unable to stop the thoughts and the awe inspiring feeling of something not quite human, No, not human at all he told himself out loud. It was something soiled, a certain evil that now drove him. He knew he had not seen the things nor experienced the thoughts that were surging through his assaulted head, but the images and voices he could hear seemed to be so natural, as though he had actually walked these walls before and that he had been there when a great and holy kingdom reigned, an age when evil was only just germinating.

There had been others, all of them unaware of their inimitable place in time, or that they would play a key role in the future annihilation of this thing Elyon had called the extension. Mbeng Falls lottery had fallen on the number 665, the number of all those who had passed their days in preparations for a future with only time enough to find that their reason for being was not one wished for by any sane or rational man. Some of the others had been amongst the greats and renown … conquering lands and taking their weaker one and offering them up as an oblation of gratitude to the forces of darkness on the altar of Nimrod.

Nevertheless, most of the Bearers, as they came to be called, were no more than disseminators of cursed seed, to produce another bearer till the last one had sprouted and firmly rooted itself throughout the whole of creation. Mbeng Fall knew that his charge was to place the fruit into the ground and let it take root, after which, he’d be torn asunder. It was just the way to make room for another, for two bearers of evil seed could not be left together, lest one be torn apart by the other. Yet, this one … this one held standing. Mbeng Fall was the 664th generation since the birth of Nimrod and opening up of the seed of Lucia, a countdown, so to speak that would culminate into the time when the one would appear, born of woman, germinated by evil. It was now drawing to the end, the time when Lucia would again, in a much more lethal manner, reclaim what had been stolen from him and his servants.

Mbeng Fall thought about what he had heard and seen in his mind and He looked at the center of the ancient surroundings. He saw the Master. Lucia was still bright and royal, yet, murky and downcast. It was as though someone had splashed him with bleach, having lost his luster. There, the first time for sure, the man saw the great Prime Minister of all of Mount Elyon rise up in intemperance and declare his frustration. To be sure, Great Lucia recovered his previous composed state only slightly after the tirade started, but one small blemish only grew and festered as the great one pushed longer and faster toward the day of his folly.
When all the hosts were arrayed to cast Lucia asunder, he took flight and lifted his hideous self into the air, and like a messenger of darkness, he hurled himself to this very place where the young man was now standing. He regained reality when he saw two captives, both small children and just standing and crying.

With the evil Watcher’s hand shoved into Mbeng Fall’s brain, impulsively looked to the left and right and two men took their guns and aimed them at two little girls, who were no more than Twelve, looking up at him and seemed to plead with him to let them go back to their mommies and daddies.

“Please take me to my daddy!” one of them cried out as they embraced each other to let their fear hold onto each other.

Mbeng Fall looked down at them and his face took on a toughness and an evil appearance that told the two little slave girls that he was going to kill them, either now or later. They looked at each other and let go of each other and turned to face him.

Mbeng Fall took on a concerned look across his face and shook his head in apparent sadness. “You have no mommy or daddy, now. They will never remain with you; you have no place to return to.” He said in a low solemn voice. The he lifted his head and stared into the two little girls’ eyes. The both began to shake uncontrollably and the fear flowed out their bowels. “Both of your cowardly fathers were ripped open alive and fed to the Optals, as you shall be unless you get to the task, now!” He knew that the Optals were profoundly infected with hunger, not men and nor women, not angel nor demon. They were the remains of those whose appetites could not be satiated and whose presence had now twice corrupted the world.

“I really am sorry, but your deaths shall be merciful.” He felt shame tear at his insides, as his hands, his eyes and his brain refused to obey his will, as he raised his hand into the air and two shells crashed into each of the little bodies that had been fearfully hugging each other, only moments earlier. Their skulls exploded.

“It was the only way to reunite you, as you requested.” The man turned away as the Optals were let loose. He heard them as they tore at the bodies, ripping them limb from limb, only searching for something else to devour briefly before reaching the length of the massive chains shackling their ankles and dragging them all back into the their abode still tearing into the small carcasses.

Mbeng Fall looked out again at the spot where over 300 men, women and children were digging into the ground to retrieve something that this man would kill … again to retrieve something precious, something obliged. Mbeng Fall’s face now was exchanging the appearance of a young eighteen year old black African and then took on the look of an evil beast with flashing red eyes, yellowed teeth and with a putrid smell that seemed to cut the air each time he breathed. He was determined to bring to light that which had been buried in the darkness. He smiled wickedly and pulled on his face to get the evil thing away from him, but it was inside his brain, caressing his thoughts and pressing Mbeng Fall down ultimately to consume him. The young man’s visage did not show the depth of spiritual warfare that this son of Ishmael would endure, for the Master, with thoughts and machinations rummaging through his mind, which were not his own. He listened to the wail of the Optals and Mbeng Fall spoke to Allah in a quiet voice.

“Sometimes, Allah is not merciful?”

Mbeng Fall’s mind saw it, there, down toward the retched digging and dying crowd gathered below him. He could see him, “Lucia?” The Great Ruler of the Realm was there, before his Mbeng Fall’s eyes, mounting his last stand. It was then that Mbeng Fall recalled seeing the great agony in his master’s eyes, the increasingly darkened Watcher continued to watch one far greater than he, and he saw where Lucia had concealed it, right there, where the men, women and children broke open the ground that had not been disturbed since the Watchers’ master had put out of sight his source of a progeny. “So many years before the bastards came into our land!” the Watcher declared through the voice of the tortured the mind of the eighteen year old.

The man scanned those digging and scratching the Earth, tortured by evil urchins, holding them fast and forcing their every movement. This devotee to Allah, the idol of the Kabaa, as a place behind which no mere idol rested. This idol of the black stone, once a mere idol amongst hundreds of other stones that resided inside this 627 square foot building called the Kabaa and worshiped by pre-Islamic Arabs, now was the seat of the lie that drove more than one billion, like him, sworn to face in the ancient structure’s direction five times a day, every day, in prayer. This place had transcended Islam and remained the seat of the master, himself. It all served Lucia’s little masquerade of goodness and held together by rage, vengeance and mayhem.

Mbeng Fall’s clouded mind watched it all in his eyes as clearly as if he were there. Was he there? He could not be sure. Lucia walked through the great doors with fifty principalities and ordered them to dig, to go so deep to find what only time and sand knew resided there.

Lucia reached behind him and wrenched one of his great wings around front. He grabbed hold of the top point of his left side. He felt it, that thing that he had been warned he’d suffer if he declared himself to be what he could rationally never win. Then, with one great aggressive movement, Lucia broke off the top point of his wing. Lucia screamed and fell to ground in great throbbing, until he felt his being fill with rage and soon the pain turned to anger and he hurled himself into the air and dropped the broken fragment from his blackened body into the hole Lucia’s minions had dug.

“Let it remain and let its hungry need to live serve as its reason to be, at that appointed time. We shall fashion my progeny and he shall distort the plans of Elyon!” Lucia declared. His face then contorted and his eyes turned red like fire and he heaved and hurled out his voice so that every Watcher in Mount Elyon turned in readiness to either serve him or to cast him down from Mount Elyon.

“I will sit at the top of the mountain of Elyon! I will eat of the Tree of Life and … I …shall be…” Lucia cried out, trying to use the words of Elyon when the Great fallen Watcher declared, “I Am!” Lucia declared as he turned and saw a ball of fire flying toward him.

“Who is this … this meek one, Michael? Are you not the one from whom is never heard nor seen the slightest hesitation to do Elyon’s bidding?”
“Brother, you have but one way and it is Elyon’s kindest attribute. Shall you not avail yourself of it?”

“I have sought His understanding, but until now, He would not tell me where this inner craving comes from. He made me grand, oh so wonderful to behold, His greatest of all He had made, until … He planned this extension of those parasites! That, I will never quite comprehend!”
Michael stood before Lucia, his kin and his fellow servant of Elyon, until that very day. “He has requested your presence, great Lucia. Can you imagine Him to make request of anything, and after all you have undone in the Realm of Elyon? It is unspeakable, your action of insidious and time-starting rule that sets the clock in motion to the last fleeting seconds, when you shall meet your interminable ruin!” Michael shouted, as he took hold of the great blade that unnervingly hung at his side and swung it forward and around until it collided with Lucia’s and the two blades, with the intent to slay the other rang out with a clanging sound that resounded throughout Mount Elyon. “You were the reigning one!” Michael shouted as he fought back against the great one who towered over the Faithful Watcher, now the closest one to Elyon. “You were the reigning one, the keeper of the Realm, the messenger of Elyon until iniquity was found in you!” Michael reared back and swung the great weapon and pierced Lucia’s side and the great Watcher fell to the floor of the great tomb with three walls and his glistening color and his instruments the shone like crystal instantly shattered and his luster turned to coal. Lucia looked upward and saw what he had become and screamed in great sorrow and wrath and knew he had been cast down.
Michael gazed downward at Lucia writhing on the floor and staring up at the point where the three walls converged and called out to all those who still swore allegiances to him. Michael turned his face and listened to the sound of a million chariots approaching and knew that the time for pleas would soon be at an end. He turned back toward Lucia. “My brother, have you not evidence enough to know there is a remedy, but henceforth, you shall never again rule in Mount Elyon!” Michael knew that the Watchers who had cast their lot with Lucia would soon arrive.
Lucia looked into Michael’s visage and drew close. “Yes, my brother, He made me illustrious and powerful…there is no other from Elyon like unto me, but there are still three who hold sway on me.” Lucia pulled his face very closely to Michael’s and spoke in a low, powerful, guttural voice. “Do you know what is worse than being last on the line, Michael?” Michael looked perplexed. “Great Lucia, I am not aware of the source or meaning of your words.” Lucia grabbed hold of Michael’s shoulder and pulled himself up and looked Michael directly into his visage. “Yes, of course, you wouldn’t be aware of any of that, for it has always been me who held sway in Mount Elyon.” Lucia replied. “Uncanny is it not, brother? This new thinking is so … liberating. Here is what I have come to understand. To be last is painful, but there is nowhere to go but up. Yet, the worst place to be of all is number two, where everyone fears you but one.” Lucia looked up and rage progressively swathed his face. “Only one still limits me from taking the power that I can almost grasp! It’s too close to the top to ever relinquish it, without a war!”

Michael had never seen such a sight, but somehow, his instincts told him it was evil and that Mount Elyon had changed forever.
“So Michael, I shall have it all or nothing!” Lucia cried out as he propelled himself forward to take Michael into his putrid hands. With the sound of a million feet pounding the ground, the fallen Watchers had become deafening as they all gathered around the three walled place pounded on the walls. Michael knew that all prospect of repentance had evaporated.

As Lucia sought to take hold of the Watcher of Elyon, Michael, quickly maneuvered the great sword and propelled it into Lucia’s back and lifted Lucia into the air and cried in a great bellowing voice, “Elyon rebuke you!” The sound resounded inside the head of the devoted servant of Allah.

Mbeng Fall saw it all behind his eyes, flowing through his mind by way of the evil Watcher that served as a conduit of the passage of time, when there was war in Mount Elyon. He could hear the words as Lucia and Michael wrestled for the Throne of Elyon, Rebuke you! … rebuke you! Finally, screaming in a voice that drowned out the cries of Lucia, Michael held Lucia in the air and hurled his decree. You are cast down, you and your entire rebellious hoard! Your thrown shall be given to another! So it is decreed, so it all shall be!

Michael then reared back and cast Lucia into the air and he fell past Mount Elyon and collided with the Earth and was swallowed into the heart of the Earth, causing great calamity.

The Turban arrayed young man’s head jerked upward at the sound of voices chanting and saw them all bowing down in homage before the hole they had been digging. “Allah Akbar! The Master resides here!”
The man ran down the long planks to the edge of the hole where the captives had dug a twenty-five foot deep hole. At the bottom there was glowing sand, almost liquefied.

“Yallah! Yallah! Take it, go on and dig it out!” All the captives backed up in great trembling and ran to hide themselves. The man grabbed hold of the closest one to him around the throat and cast him down into the hole. Two others pointed their guns at the young man who was now deep in the hole and feeling the heated sand below.

“Take it out now and give it to me!” A bullet was hurled into the hole, just to the right of the terrified captive. He fell instantly to his knees and started digging around the hole. As his hands dug into the molten sand, his flesh caught fire and his fingers, grasping a piece of something that was scalding to the touch. He grasped it nonetheless. His mind and the evil putrid Watcher that had its clawed fingers shoved right into the young man’s head would not let him release it. The young man pulled out the thing and held it up before his eyes and fire engulfed his whole arm and moved across his face as he stood up, handed it to the Muslim man and then crumbled into the hole and burned to ashes.

The man held the fragment of the master up to his eyes and heard a voice. It was strong but calm, almost eerily so. “Plunge it down into your belly. Force it in until it cannot be removed, until the proper day!” The sixteen year old young man gazed at the tip of the evil Watcher’s wing. He pointed it downward just as a human thought of his own escaped past the evil Watcher’s grasp and he became terrified.

The Watcher who had latched onto the man’s brain regained the upper hand. “Split yourself asunder and procreate with the preferred one.” the voice inside the man’s head screamed out. He grasped it tightly and then with unfettered force, with the tip of the wing of Great Lucia pointing downward, he heaved and impaled the evil relic into his stomach and the pain it inflicted only tortured him for few minutes when his writhing mass of human flesh fell to the floor in screams of terror replaced his terrified screams with hideous laughter. He lay on the floor and his eye turned yellow and red, then his flesh became that of some four-legged beast and then returned back to human likeness. He screamed out the sound of a jackal and opened his eyes…

“Mbeng, are you awake?” There was no response, but the boy’s mother knew he was up. Mbeng always had a certain silence that she had always known was … mysterious, for want of any other word that was not too strong or to passive to describe it. He was elusive and timid, kind and cruel. He did not seem to fit into any category at all. Even young seventeen year old Roger Masters knew that he was … different, for want of any other word that was not too strong or to passive to describe it.
His eyes flashed open and he was sure he’d find himself lying on the floor of some darkened, ancient tomb with a charred, rotting piece of the devil’s wing stuck into his abdomen. He sat up in his bed and felt a sharp pain in his stomach and looked down at his shirt. It was covered with blood. The boy slowly and frightfully pulled his shirt up over his stomach and saw it there. His stomach was sliced open. He grabbed his stomach and screamed.

“Mbeng, I know you gonna miss your ride for sure.” Teacher Rachel Saul carefully so as not to frighten the little jerk who was asleep in her class. “Are you awake?” There was no response, but Rachel knew he had come to. Mbey Fall opened his eyes again and sat up immediately.

“Burning the midnight oil, Mbeng? That’s something my dad always said to me.” Rachel said. Let’s try to sleep at home; you’re a smart young man, Mbeng. Let’s show it a little more, what ya say?”

“Sorry, Miss Saul, I won’t let it happen again.” All the students laughing and Mbeng carefully elbowed the ones on his left and right, which made them laugh harder.

“Well, Mbeng is right.” Rachel said. “This will be my last day here.” Everyone looked shocked, but not even close to the expression of surprise as Mbeng wore over his troubled face.

“Yes, I have been offered a study position for my Doctorate at the University of Hawaii. It is a great opportunity, but I will miss you all, and I will remember all of you as long as I…”

“No! You cannot leave!” Mbeng exclaimed. “I … I mean, what will we do for a teacher?”

“Well, there are many better, far more interesting and experienced than me.” Rachel said

“None as beautiful!” Mbeng said quietly. “Well, thank you, Mbeng. All of you, study hard and I will pray for each of you every day.” Rachel exhorted them all.

Mbeng looked around and stood up and walked over to the teacher. Rachel felt a wave of fear run over her, but she kept her composure. Mbeng looked at her and put out his hand. Rachel debated the best course of action and finally took his hand I hers. He shook her hand and then pulled her close to him in an affection but proper hug. He felt her warmth and whispered in her ear, “I am coming to you.” Then he let go of Rachel Saul, his teacher and ran out the door.

When he got into the hallway, he pulled up his shirt. He only saw skin and something in the corner of his right eye. He shifted his eyes to the right and the left and saw it. An evil blackened beast with eyes that glowed yellow and red bowing down. Mbeng saw it clearly and waited to wake up again and finally screamed when he heard the words, “My name is Abaddon.”

Down the front of his stomach, there was something protruding out, just under his skin. It was the shape of the bone he had seen Lucia break of his wing. Nbeng Fall’s mind ran wild and he wanted to scream and wanted to tear it out right there, but he knew he had only begun to learn what it meant to be the seed of Nimrod.

You can read the first three sections of Nimrod Rising in one volume by going to one of these excellent sites to purchase your own copy:

amazon.com
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Patriot Acts by Steven Clark Bradley - Border Insecurity

2008-11-23T19:29:45+01:00

Click here to go to: "Lost In A Great Book" Which is Featuring Patriot Acts For The Month Of November

These are days when we have all heard that God should damn America, that we cling to God and guns because we are bitter and fundamentally ignorant and that we live in a mean country. It all means that we are fighting a real war abroad against Islamic terrorist who wish to destroy but can only wreak havoc. At home we are in a much more chronic and lethal war that threatens to rip the conscience from America and then to fragment her to death. The not too slow and not so hidden shift in the nation’s thinking and affection for their country has been evidenced by the nation’s readiness to elect a man has no experience in foreign affairs, has had dealings and friendship with a known, confessed domestic terrorist and who has been the center of every anti-American statement that was spoken in the 2008 Presidential campaign.

I wrote Patriot Acts for the express purpose of spinning a tale with so much clarity and realistic fervor that it might cause those who read it to understand the peril of seeing a transparent danger and refusing to do what is required to kill it before it is strong enough to kill us all. Today, America faces enemies that make the world of the Cold War seem like much brighter times. The Islamic forces that have declared Jihad on America have caused the greatest threat to the life of the United States since World War II. In Patriot Acts, America finds itself under covert nuclear attack from the Islamic Republic of Iran which has linked up with American Militia groups, which have set aside their political and religious differences to carry out the widest and most deadly attack on America in the nation’s history. The only person who can effectively retaliate against their aggression is Fisher Harrison, the best trained Special Ops killer the military has. The only problem is that he is in a federal prison, framed for a murder he did not commit, framed by his former boss, the President of the United States of America. You will take an amazing journey that will take you from Alaska to the Midwest and to the heart of the nation of Iran itself as two enemies unite to save the nation, while two enemies are unified to bring the country down. You will be amazed how possible this story is and may be shocked by how close to home and to reality that it could be! The main question is whether America is willing to do what may be necessary in order to preserve, protect and defend the constitution of the United States of America. You will read about actions that are not acts of terror, not acts of vengeance but in reality, Patriot Acts, many of the same decisions the next President shall surely be compelled to take.

Now, I hope you will read this excerpt from Patriot Acts, which will be the last excerpt that will be published prior to Patriot Acts being released. I think you will see the result of allowing a ticking bomb of apathy and ignorance.

Patriot Acts by Steven Clark Bradley - Border Insecurity

April 14, 2009 7:20 PM

The City of Nogales is there and back again in the shear uniqueness of being a split city that spans the southern border of Arizona. Unlike Kansas City though that lived, worked and slept in two states, Nogales shared the borders of two countries, The United States and Mexico. The last time anyone had checked, the city comprised 20,878 people, 5,985 households, and 4,937 families residing in this mostly Spanish-speaking city. This place was cherished and even had its own folklore. It was said that in this crossroads of the Sonoran Borderland, Nogales, Arizona possessed a goddess for the journey through life and for the places which one encounters along the way. The name of this goddess was Hecate, the guardian of the crossroads, an ancient and powerful female deity who possessed the power to see in three directions at once. Apparently, she had been helping many people find uncountable ways of entering the United States because of her ability to see in so many directions, but not so much here in this city.

This city was not known as one of the major crossover points through which illegal aliens from Mexico came into the United States never to return to their country teaming with poor, bewildered people and corruption. This city was legit! Mexicans knew they could cross over into the States and buy goods, which were either scarce or nonexistent in their own country. As a result, officials looked the other way, most of the time, because the trade that went on in this desert city was far more important than the size of the city and its dry and resentful environment would indicate. Cars and those on foot crossed over and into the western state and returned filled with goods that were far too lucrative to let such an insignificant thing like National Security stand in the way! Consequently, the security presence was small and only slightly vigilant. In fact, security was so underrated that the safety measures at the United States Border Control Station had even been outsourced to Mexican officials who checked the vehicles that crossed into the coveted giant neighbor to the North.

~~~

Fifty-five miles north, two very tired men ducked their heads and climbed out of a private Jet that had landed on a dirt runway that didn’t exist officially on any map. They jumped into an awaiting small Ford Escort and in three minutes they were making tacks and headed south, cruising down Arizona 19 while also in minutes, the private jet was airborne again. The destination was this small but well-known city/town town of Nogales.

~~~

Sixty miles south another vehicle, loaded with office furniture and briefcases, was headed North on Mexico 15. The two highways converged on the US side of the border that ran through the middle of Nogales.

~~~

April 14, 2009 7:35 PM

“So where the hell is he?” President Tate demanded to know.

“He is the chief of staff and has a few things to do around here!”

The door to the Oval Office opened and Jamie O’Rourke walked in.

“Where have you been all day?”

“Mr. President, don’t you remember the Lincoln Day dinner you couldn’t bear to attend and sent me to?”

“Up in, where was it, Nome, Alaska?”

“Yes sir. Weather was pretty good and love those blubber burgers!”

“We’ve got a problem Jamie.”

“Am I supposed to be shocked? All we ever do is deal with problems.”

“Why did I ever want this job?” Tate whined shaking his head.

“One, I don’t think you mean that and two, if I thought you did I’d resign right now and three, you like the retirement benefits?”

“Yea, they’re good, but I’ll probably get assassinated before I benefit from any of those perks.”

Jamie didn’t even look up when those words were uttered.

“Anyway, Jamie, back to our problem. I just got word that Harrison escaped!”

“More like stolen, I heard.” Jamie added.

“You know about this already?”

“Where was I all day Mr. President? News didn’t have to travel too far even in the frozen tundra! I was told that some kind of Paramilitary strike took place and he was hauled off with one of our agents who you placed at the prison to keep watch over that black sheep. Seems Fisher knew nothing about it. Anyway, I guess you do have a problem there, but we’ve got bigger problems than your fear of death or of hiding your skeletons.”

“Jamie, sometimes I wonder about your allegiance to me?”

“Allegiance to you? You should have no worries about that at all. I am in allegiance to the United States of America! I would think you’d have it no other way and that is why I serve you, and it is why I am up before most terrorists are and why I have gone to such lengths to keep you here and make sure you get a round two. But the nation always comes first for me. So, Mr. President, get your mind off of this guy you locked away for life. I think you should sit down and let me tell you what is happening right now as we speak and why we cannot stop it unless we act immediately.

~~~

“Atash, do you know what to say?”

“Of course, ‘Pesos, Pesos’!”

“This is not a joke! The resemblance we have to Mexicans may be passable but there’s that thing called Spanish.”

“Jalil, you worry too much! En Shallah, everything will go well, and anyway we will probably have to say nothing with this in my hand.”

The Muslim driver of a van carrying office supplies across the border waved a large stack of $100.00 bills. Their cargo demanded that they spread the wealth before they spread some death.

“This is a breakthrough for Jihad! For once, we won’t be doing the damage. Could we have ever hoped that there would be such a well organized effort by Americans themselves to destroy their own nation and serve Allah in the process?”

“Allah is great!”

~~~

“What?” President Tate shouted in utter horror!

“Yes sir, we have very valid and verifiable reports that somewhere along our border with Mexico a large number of tactical nukes are being transported into the United States.”

“When did these reports come in?”

“When I walked into my office, a field agent was faxing these reports to me and they were coming over the machine as entered my office.”

Jamie bent down and picked up his file off of a stack of documents he had brought into Tate’s office for signing. When he bent down he grunted loudly and rubbed his chest.

“What’s wrong with you? Don’t you die on me. All heart attacks, strokes or any kind of illness are temporarily forbidden!”

“I’m fine, just strained my back, I guess. Mr. President, we need to seal the border!”

“Oh, well, I’ll get on that right away! Are you crazy? That’s more than 2000 miles between San Diego and Brownsville! We’d have to pull troops out of every country they currently operate in to do that and…”

“Not so, Mr. President. We can activate several militia groups and use them to do what they do best.”

“What would that be, killing illegals and then we’ll have the Alamo all over again!”

“Chris…Mr. President, these guys will either be our enemies or they will join our enemies! You called the Minutemen vigilantes! You refuse to enlist the help of those who love the nation and now you’re afraid of Mexico? Whose border is it anyway and what are you going to do about this?”

“Do you have Intel on where the nukes could be coming in?”

“Yes sir! Somewhere along a two-thousand mile line!”

~~~

“Stop it Atash!”

“Stop what?”

“Sweating! You look too terrified! What if the Sheik had ordered you to lay it down? Allah will prevail and make a way!”

“Yea, you mean, what is it they call them…Dead Presidents?”

“I have them in hand! We will use US dollars, US mercenaries and US laws to give them Jihad terror!” Jalil declared.

Even Atash livened up as they pulled up to the gate.

~~~

Just over the border from the Mexican side of Nogales or just at the border on the US side, depending on how one viewed it, was a place that even bore the name, ‘Borders’ and it wasn’t a bookstore. Americans who wished to venture into the same area from which so many people wished to escape frequented this place. This large store had just about everything and in Pesos or in dollars. This was certainly the best place to get goods from the States that could not be got in Mexico and taken back across without any harassment or impediment. The store was not an amazing thing in any real unique way. It made a lot of money for its owner and it was its owner that was the special commodity. The proprietor was not Mexican, Indian or American or Irania. He was Korean.

Lee Kun Hee or his self-imposed American name, Henry was an unassuming man, a specialty amongst Asian people, but the Koreans had seemed to make a science out of practicing humility and piety. Henry had been there for many years and his bank account was far bigger than even his well-placed store could provide. It was about to become a good deal bigger too. Henry had come to America in the early 1990’s as a refugee from North Korea. He bore the marks of the brutal regime in Pyongyang. No one knew and he had almost made himself forget that he had received the marks and scars across his back and chest quite willingly. They had made his story so much more believable! How else could a red-blooded spy from the North Korean Communist government implant himself in this country? It had worked too!

Like a bridge between insanity and mayhem, two vehicles were steadily converging on Henry’s store. From the south and headed north, two Iranian Jihadists pulled up to the gate that, if opened to them, would change the face of the American Republic forever.

~~~

Jalil looked at the posted officials at the border crossing. He could not believe that the man who would be dealing with him and his fellow terrorist was not American at all but a Mexican national, which made the payoff game even easier and sweeter all the way along. Jalil pulled out two forged Mexican passports and phony shipment documents, which read ‘Office furnishings’. The similarities of their faces to the typical Mexican and the various dark-skinned Muslim radical was uncanny! They looked so much alike! Jalil handed the passports to the Mexican guard. The guard doubted their honesty and demanded all their verification. Jalil pulled out a very thick wad of US dollars and the passports were immediately stamped and the van pulled into the center of destiny!

~~~

The Ford Escort with Wyoming plates headed south down Arizona 19 and had just past the sign that read, Nogales, Arizona. That told them that they had almost completed half of their voyage. The other half would be an immediate return back to where they had started.

“Len! Len wake up you sorry ass!”

“What? Where are we?”

“Where are we? We are at Armageddon’s door my brother. The posse has arrived!”

Len Garret rubbed his eyes and turned a bottle of Scotch up to his lips.

“This stuff’s about the only thing that wakes me up anymore. Pull around back Frank.”

“In back? Don’t that look out of the ordinary?”

“Well, we ain’t far from it, so just do what I told ya, ok?”

“Yavool, Mein Fuehrer!”

Garret’s cohort drove to the back of the large wooden structure and both Garret and his driver saw the large van marked ‘Nogales office furniture’. They parked and walked inside.

“Mr. Lee, what we have is a cavalcade of diversity! Three nationalities, all hating the same place, all seeking the same thing!” Len shouted!

“Mr. Garret! How are you? Got your fax! Is there something I can interest you in today, sir?”

“Ah, yes, I need a load of briefcases and I’m on a tight schedule. I have a feeling my business is going to explode soon!”

Everyone in the room started laughing, including the two Iranians who were seated in the room next to the main shop. They would not see each other’s faces! The whole thing took only ten minutes to transact and the Ford Escort was headed north again to where they had left only hours before and where they had left two new members of the Brotherhood of Patriots still waiting for their orders; ten minutes, a far longer period of time than it would take to destroy America’s resolve, her economy and her very existence as a nation.

~~~

The lights were burning late at the Pentagon and in the White House this night. In countless homes in virtually every state in the union, men and women were filling their suitcases, kissing their wives, husbands and babies goodbye and heading to a myriad of locations by air, rail and road. As passenger planes and military chopper filled the skies, while trains rolled on rail and cars roared down highways filled with GI’s all headed southward and trying to stop one lowly and unsuspecting car that was already headed north unimpeded like a mobile weapon of mass destruction singing, “Amazing Grace, How sweet the sound!”

No Unconditional Talks Just
Patriot Acts! Get Your Copy Of Patriot Acts
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All of Steven Clark Bradley's novels are widely available all over the net. Here are a few links to help you read these exciting stories now.

Amazon.com
Booksamillion.com
powells.com
Borders.com
barnesandnoble.com
copperfields.com

Here are a few other sites where you can read more of
Steven Clark Bradley's material:

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The One...Son Of Perdition

2008-10-26T00:15:11+02:00

Just think back with me for a moment in time. I am sure you can recall all the sounds that have flooded your ears. One hardly knows where to start. We have seen this nation torn on issues that are bigger than either John McCain or Barack Obama.

This nation has seen itself taken over by a government that should fear us. Instead, the people of the United States have been turned into a mass of chained and shackled beasts of burden, stoking the fires of greed, confusion, panic and ready to sell their birthright of freedom for a mouthful of lies. In less than two months, we have seen the economy of the United States topple, not because all the business inside America had come to screeching halt. In fact, the crisis we now endure was spoken into existence. We all woke up one day, some of us early and incoherent. The impact of the national crisis probably didn’t affect your normal feelings until you got halfway to work. Others slept in and went along their way only to find out later that night, when you and your significant other felt a wave of trepidation roll over your future. If so, you felt what this government had programmed you to feel, confusion, panic, paranoia and totally dependent upon the ones who slew us.

Then we cried out to the One. This extraordinary man, Barack Obama, just appears, seemingly out of nowhere to build a cult-like following that somehow propelled him to the top of the world to become the most powerful man in the world, poised to change the way we love, the way we think, to become globally minded and to become totally dependent upon the Beast. This is not some sinister novel that you can search for at Amazon. In fact, it is all around you, bearing witness to the truth of the book which declares that in the last days, humankind shall believe the lie.

Now, this enigma, this The One is ready to pounce on our freedoms, and to justify it all by the virtue of his impeccable judgment. The Banking system is now a government controlled affair. Financial firms are at the point of having to give up control of property to satisfy the demands of the wild Beast. Insurance and soon, the medical systems will both be controlled and owned by the government, with the One at the helm, deciding who lives and who dies. The result of the treachery was to see the government of the United States of America vote itself into a totalitarian State, with the Europeans crying out for a “New financial order.” These are all but preparations and demonstrations of that which shall unfold over the next four years, culminating in the chilling knowledge of just who this One man really is. Only The One knows for sure, and it shall not be long before he reveals himself.

So, it is safe to say that what we are seeing unfold before our eyes is the end of the United States as we have known and cherished her. We are about to elect a man who has no value on ownership, on freedom and who will, not too slowly, take control of this nation and rip the soul right out of her. Men or woman get up every day and build their lives and raise their kids, to start that business and leave something behind when we have gone the way of all the Earth. Does that sound strange? Well, it was a normal way to look at life, which has struggles, no matter what life we lead. It has always been treasured that those in this great land have chosen, for ourselves, what we want be, where we wish to live, how we choose to love and who we hope to help. Now, if you happen to be one of those highly motivated souls who wants to “get ahead”, you can only get ahead so far before you run headlong into the Obama wall of class warfare that turns the most apathetic against the the most success driven and are penalized and forced to share that which you had predestined to only be for your kids. I am not speaking of the generosity that we should all express to those around us and far afield. I am pointing out that it has always been your decision to do as you pleased with what was really yours. Now, you have to pull others up who still refuse to walk and insist that you carry them. All of a sudden, it has become evil to get rich. I am by no means a man of means. I am a successful failure, in so many regards. I am not speaking of this new compunction of The One to steal people’s income because I fear what I could lose, from a monetary point of view. What I do fear is the complete loss of the freedom that makes us Americans.

What we see here is the second American Revolution. Our first battle was to build a nation that honored God and blessed the land’s people. This second battle is a battle between those who cherish freedom and enterprise verses the obtuse amongst us who want a Socialist land in which remains nary a trace of "In God We Trust" and a land that is prepared for The One. He will bring the government into your bank accounts. He will intrude upon your family life, He will tell you what your kids will be told in school. He will take the nation to war and become The One who will turn our present allies into our adversaries and will embrace those we have always resisted. Obama will distort marriage and take the nation headlong and racing toward the Culture of Death.

We correctly preach that we should not divide over race. We have made great progress and recognizing our baser instincts and have united against racism. This is well exemplified by Barack Obama prominence on the world stage. Yet, now, he has fully divided the nation and raised the gauntlet against those who succeed and he prefers to lower our standards of living rather than taking the required steps to pull the rest of us upward. It will all lead to the total destruction of the system of freedom we have enjoyed for over two centuries and will have been voted into office by those he seeks to devour. No one can state it better than THE ONE, Himself. “Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time. We are the ones we've been waiting for. We are the change that we seek.” Barack Obama
‘I opposed the Defense of Marriage Act in 1996. It should be repealed and I will vote for its repeal on the Senate floor. I will also oppose any proposal to amend the U.S. Constitution to ban gays and lesbians from marrying.” Barack Obama
“I've got two daughters. 9 years old and 6 years old. I am going to teach them first of all about values and morals. But if they make a mistake, I don't want them punished with a baby.” Barack Obama
“People of Berlin - people of the world - this is our moment. This is our time.” Barack Obama
Do you really want to trust your Future to this man?
Click the link to read Could It Be So? Obama - What You Need To Know

"Don't let anyone deceive you in any way, for (that day will not come) until the rebellion occurs and the man of lawlessness is revealed, the man doomed to destruction. "

The Bible: 2 Thessalonians 2:3

Currently, Steven Clark Bradley is the author of four dramatic thrillers novel titled "Nimrod Rising!" "Probable Cause" "StillBorn!" and Patriot Acts, Steven speaks French and Turkish. He has been an assistant to a prosecutor, a University Instructor and a Freelance Journalist. Steven attended Knox High School in Knox, Indiana and graduated in 1977. In that same year, he began his college studies in Theology and Human Awareness at Emmaus College in Dubuque, Iowa until 1980. Steven finished his degree at Bethel College, and earned his B.A. in Organizational Management of Human Resources. In 1985, while in France, Steven earned a Certificate of Fluency in the French Language at Cavilam Institute of the French Language in Vichy, France. Steven obtained a Masters Degree in Liberal Studies at Indiana University in 2001. Steven worked a number of years in various countries in Europe, Asia, and Africa. He has been to 34 countries and has worked extensively with Kurdish refugees from Turkey, Iraq, and Syria. Steven also established a school by correspondence for African students in the African countries of The Gambia and Senegal West Africa. He is the founder of a Cultural Center for refugees in France, where he lived for six years. Speaking fluently in French and in Turkish, Steven has been in 34 countries. Before returning to the United States in 1995, Steven worked as an instructor of English and Business skills for four years at Bilkent University in Ankara, Turkey. He was responsible for the supervision of ten tourism instructors, and supervised the development of syllabi, course outlines, and the development of pertinent materials for Tourism and Business courses. Steven had the opportunity of assisting in the development of a Masters of Business Administration and Public Presentation skills course. Developing a specialized course in Business translation, Steven helped students seek a diploma in Translation and Linguistics. He also developed materials and taught a Specialized Writing course to deepen students’ abilities in communication for business and writing purposes. He was also involved in several World Bank courses, which were offered at the University as well.

Here are a few other sites where you can read more of Steven Clark Bradley's material:

Steven Clark Bradley's Stories That Read You! Steven Clark Bradley's Underground Controversy
Steven Clark bradley inspiredauthor.com/promotion
Steven Clark Bradley - Published Authors.com
Steven Clark Bradley at Blog Talk Radio.com
Steven Clark bradley at Communati.com
Steven Clark Bradley at Inspired Author.com
Steven Clark Bradley - Nimrod Rising
Author Steven Clark Bradley

All of Steven Clark Bradley's novels are widely available all over the net. Here are a few links to help you read these exciting stories now.

Amazon.com
booksamillion.com
powells.com
bordersstores.com
barnesandnoble.com
copperfields.com

Patriot Acts @ www.mobipocket.com

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Who Is This Man???

2008-10-06T15:07:20+02:00

Special Election Feature

Still Wonder Who Obama Is?
Obama Needs to Explain His Ties to William Ayers
August 22, 2008 | Michael Barone US News & World Reports

In my U.S. News column this week, I make a brief reference to the unrepentant Weather Underground terrorist bomber William Ayers and his connections to Barack Obama. They were closer than Obama implied when George Stephanopoulos asked him about Ayers in the April 16 debate—the last debate Obama allowed during the primary season. To get an idea of how close they were, check out Tom Maguire's Just One Minute blog and Steve Diamond's Global Labor and Politics. The Obama-Ayers relationship is also mentioned in David Freddoso's The Case Against Barack Obama: The Unlikely Rise and Unexamined Agenda of the Media's Favorite Candidate.

Ayers was one of the original grantees of the Chicago Annenberg Challenge, a school reform organization in the 1990s, and was cochairman of the Chicago School Reform Collaborative, one the two operational arms of the CAC. Obama, then not yet a state senator, became chairman of the CAC in 1995. Later in that year, the first organizing meeting for Obama's state Senate campaign was held in Ayers's apartment. Ayers later wrote a memoir, and an article about him appeared in the New York Times on Sept. 11, 2001. "I don't regret setting bombs," Ayers is quoted as saying. "I feel we didn't do enough."

Ayers was a terrorist in the late 1960s and 1970s whose radical group set bombs at the Pentagon and U.S. Capitol.

You might wonder what Obama was doing working with a character like this. And you might wonder how an unrepentant terrorist got a huge grant and cooperation from the Chicago public school system. You might wonder—if you don't know Chicago. For this is a city with a civic culture in which politicians, in the words of a story often told by former congressman, federal judge, and Clinton White House counsel Abner Mikva, "don't want nobody nobody sent." That's what Mikva remembers being told when he went to a Democratic ward headquarters to volunteer for Adlai Stevenson in the 1950s, and it rings true. And it's a civic culture in which there's nobody better to send you than your parents.

That's how William Ayers got where he was. When he came out of hiding because the federal government was unable to prosecute him (because of government misconduct), he got a degree in education from Columbia and then moved to Chicago and got a job on the education faculty of the University of Illinois-Chicago Circle. How did he get that job? Well, it can't have hurt that his father, Thomas Ayers, was chairman of Commonwealth Edison (now Exelon) and a charter member of the Chicago establishment. As Mayor Richard M. Daley said recently, in arguing that the Ayers association should not be held against Obama, "His father was a great friend of my father."

In none of our other major cities is genealogy so important. I remember a story that Bill Plante of CBS News has often told. Plante was working for WBBM, the Chicago CBS-owned and -operated affiliate, during the violence-plagued Democratic National Convention. At a press conference, he asked the late Mayor Richard J. Daley a question "da mare" thought was impertinent. Daley's answer was, "Sometimes even in the best of families there's a bad apple." It baffled the members of the national press, but not those from Chicago. Plante's father and brother were Democratic precinct committeemen in the 49th Ward. The late Mayor Daley had the whole city of Chicago in his head. It is only natural that his son should vouch for someone by saying that their fathers were great friends.

The voters of Chicago and Illinois respect family ties in a way that voters in no other state or city do. The current Mayor Daley is, of course, the son of the late Mayor Daley; the two Daleys have been mayors, and effective and competent mayors, of Chicago for 40 of the last 53 years. The attorney general of Illinois is the daughter of the speaker of the Illinois House of Representatives. The governor of Illinois is the son-in-law of the Democratic ward committeeman in the 33rd Ward. The congressman from the 2nd Congressional District is Jesse Jackson Jr. Jackson's predecessor-but-one in the district was Morgan Murphy Jr., whose father was chairman of (get this) Commonwealth Edison.

But my favorite example of the importance of family ties is 3rd District Rep. Dan Lipinski, who was first elected in 2004 to replace his father, Bill Lipinski, who was first elected in 1982. Bill Lipinski won the Democratic nomination in the March 2004 primary. But on August 13, he announced he would not seek re-election and would resign the Democratic nomination. The deadline for replacing him was August 26, and a meeting was set on August 17 for the 19th Ward and township Democratic committeemen to choose a new candidate. Lipinski announced his support for his son, who was then a professor of political science at the University of Tennessee and had not lived in Chicago for many years. Among the committeemen making the decision were: 11th Ward committeeman and County Commissioner John Daley, son of the late mayor and brother of the current mayor; 13th Ward committeeman Michael Madigan, speaker of the Illinois House and father of Attorney General Lisa Madigan; 14th Ward committeeman Edward Burke, who succeeded his father as a council member in his 20s and and was longtime chairman of the Finance Committee, and whose wife is a justice of the Illinois Supreme Court; 19th Ward committeeman Tom Hynes, former Cook County Assessor and father of Illinois Comptroller Dan Hynes; and 23rd Ward committeeman Bill Lipinski. An electorate more averse to an argument against nepotism cannot be imagined. Lipinski advanced his son's name and said, "I'm optimistic, but one never knows in politics until the votes are counted." It did not take long to count them: Dan Lipinski was nominated without opposition. To the charge that the nomination was rigged, one participant dryly noted that anyone could have run.

To which it should be added that Dan Lipinski has since won two seriously contested Democratic primaries to hold the seat (Republicans are not a factor in this district). One reason that Chicago and Illinois voters have acquiesced to the politics of nepotism is that its products—or many of them—are quite competent. Mayor Richie Daley, if I can call him that, has on the whole been an excellent mayor. Edward Burke is a cultured man of high intellect. Michael Madigan seems to be a solidly competent sort, and for all I know his daughter is, too. Dan Rostenkowski was a highly competent chairman of the House Ways and Means Committee for 14 years, until he was laid low by a bit of cheap chiseling; at that point he and his father had been the 32nd Ward committeemen for just about 60 years. (The younger Rostenkowski got his seat in the House in 1958 because his father, Joe Rostenkowski, had supported the late Mayor Daley in the 1955 Democratic primary against fellow Polish-American Benjamin Adamowski.) There are exceptions. Many political observers would put Rod Blagojevich, the son-in-law of 33rd Ward committeeman Dick Mell, on the top of the list of the nation's dumbest governors. But then, for Chicago, it has always been more important who is mayor than who is governor (not to mention out-of-town jobs like U.S. senator).

Which leads us back to Barack Obama, who is now a U.S. senator and will shortly become the Democratic nominee for an office that even Chicago regards as more important than mayor. And the question presents itself: How did this outsider from Hawaii and Columbia and Harvard become somebody somebody sent? His wife, Michelle Robinson Obama, had some connections: Her father was (I believe) a Democratic precinct committeeman, she baby-sat for Jesse Jackson's children, and she worked as a staffer for the current Mayor Daley. Obama made connections on the all-black South Side by joining the Rev. Jeremiah Wright's church. But was Obama's critical connection to le tout Chicago William Ayers? That's the conclusion you are led to by Steve Diamond's blog. And by the fact that the National Review's Stanley Kurtz was suddenly denied access to the records of the Chicago Annenberg Challenge by the Richard J. Daley Library at the University of Illinois-Chicago Circle. (Kurtz had already been given an index to the records.) Presumably the CAC records would show a closer collaboration between Ayers and Obama than was suggested by Obama's response to Stephanopoulos that Ayers was just a guy "in the neighborhood."

The increasingly sharp McCain campaign had the wit to ask the University of Illinois to open up the CAC records. But it doesn't seem likely the university will open them up; as John Kass puts it in a characteristically pungent column in the Chicago Tribune, "Welcome to Chicago, Mr. Kurtz."

Does it matter if William Ayers was the key somebody who made Barack Obama a somebody somebody sent? I think it does. Not that Obama shares all of Ayers's views, which surely he does not. Or that he endorses Ayers's criminal acts, which, as he has pointed out, were committed while he was a child in Hawaii and Indonesia. But his willingness to associate with an unrepentant terrorist is not the same as Daley's (expressed, as George W. Bush's thoughts are, in disjointed prose but the product of a considerable intellect and seasoned judgment):

"Bill Ayers, I've said this, his father was a great friend of my father. I'll be very frank. Vietnam divided families, divided people. It was a terrible time of our country. It really separated people. People didn't know one another. Since then, I'll be very frank, (Ayers) has been in the forefront on a lot of education issues and helping us in public schools and things like that.

"People keep trying to align himself with Barack Obama. It's really unfortunate. They're friends. So what? People do make mistakes in the past. You move on. This is a new century, a new time. He reflects back and he's been making a strong contribution to our community."

For Daley, family is paramount, and Ayers is admitted into le tout Chicago because his father is one of its pillars. And electoral politics is also paramount: In a city that is roughly 40 percent (and falling) white ethnic and 40 percent black, with an increasing gentrified white population, the current Mayor Daley has maintained very strong support from lakefront liberals, including the Hyde Park/Kenwood leftists like Ayers who were the original movers behind Obama's 1996 state Senate candidacy. It's in Daley's interest to work with these people and against his interest to do anything that seems like disrespecting them. As Bill Daley told me when I asked him some years ago whether his father would have approved of Richie marching in the gay rights parade, "Our father always told us when a group was big enough to control a ward, we should pay attention to them." Staying mayor is real important to Daley, and Daley staying mayor is real important to le tout Chicago. An unrepentant terrorist? Hey, we know your dad. And you control the 5th Ward.

For Obama, the outsider who gained the trust of the insiders, the position is different. He was willing to use Ayers and ally with him despite his terrorist past and lack of repentance. An unrepentant terrorist, who bragged of bombing the U.S. Capitol and the Pentagon, was a fit associate. Ayers evidently helped Obama gain insider status in Chicago civic life and politics—how much, we can't be sure unless the Richard J. Daley Library opens the CAC archive. But most American politicians would not have chosen to associate with a man with Ayers's past or of Ayers's beliefs. It's something voters might reasonably want to take into account.

Here are a few other sites where you can read more of Steven Clark Bradley's material:

All of Steven Clark Bradley's novels are widely available all over the net. Here are a few links to help you read these exciting stories now.

Amazon.com
booksamillion.com
powells.com
bordersstores.com
barnesandnoble.com
copperfields.com
Patriot Acts @ Mobipocket.com

Comments

So, How Will You Feel Tomorrow...?

2008-10-02T05:34:15+02:00

Return to Underground Controversy Main Page-

I love to speak my mind, but with the temper of someone who realizes that I need to be open to other people’s opinions. My writing reflects this boldness and desire to record, in fictional terms, the issues and dangers that we as a people in our current society now face. Boldness speaks in terms that get readers’ attention. I strive to accomplish the goal of causing readers to consider what they believe and to open their minds to consider the peril of our ways so that we can take stock of the current direction of our lives.

I do not consider myself Prophetic. I do not feel some pie in the sky religious fanaticism and nor do I claim to see visions or hear voices that told me what the past means for the future. In fact, in Nimrod Rising, I am talking about logically determining where certain changes will ultimately take us as a people and whether our ultimate place as a nation will be better and more secure or increasingly dangerous and hopeless. I think the most important thing for a writer of such genres as I write such as Nimrod Rising is to be open-minded. I need to try to get beyond the physical world we see every day and try to accept that there is more out there than just us. I don't want people to consider Nimrod Rising as just another scary story. It is far more than that. Nimrod Rising is a book about the history of life and the origin of evil. As I write, I pose the questions such as: Who are we? Where did we come from? What was here before us? Where are we going? Are there answers to the question why the world faces such peril today? Nimrod Rising offers “possible” answers to those questions. I want to awaken the imagination and the cause self perception as readers taken in my stories.

Now, continue to read Nimrod Rising Tick Tock Part Two and see how the past events that have either shaken the nation or how they have lulled us to sleep. It is important to take stock and draw a line in the sands of time as I paint a very plausible future scenario of where current political events and policies could ultimately take the nation we love in the future. I know you’ll find it as real as it gets!

Nimrod Rising – Tick Tock Part Two

Thomas Jefferson had penned the words himself, actually quoting from John Locke’s words, that humanity had certain inalienable rights such as life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, though John Locke had stated differently in reality by declaring that a people had the rights of life and liberty, the pursuit of property. Locke had desired to instill in the minds of people that they had the right to ownership, posterity and physical possessions that would one day give proof to their having been on the Earth. In changing Locke’s words, Jefferson had set America’s eyes toward some inexplicable, unreachable, intangible goal of pleasing one’s self at all costs, even at the price of selling out one’s own freedom, one’s own country! Such attitudes and inabilities to act to save the land had left the people bewildered and always in the throws of change. The locust had come in as a storm that could not be measured in severity, and which by no means could ever be stopped. The American Babylon would fall to the ground before an eye could be aroused or before a sound could be interpreted. With that unholy day when the smoke rose up like the face of Lucia and consumed those who fled from its face, when missiles of concrete slammed into the bodies, hearts and minds of those who endured its rage, the Swarm had ushered in the end of the laissez-faire society; and the entire world wept.

The changes in society brought about by the Swarm were at first subtle. Then, as the doors into the misty, creeping social abyss had finally swung wide open, very distinct tactics were revealed that did, in fact, undermine the very social fabric of a once noble and moral society. Laws were passed that would sentence anyone to death who willfully, through some violent act, caused the death of an unborn fetus even if the mother was not killed. Yet, American justice and American society had collaborated in the murder of tens of millions of unborn babies in the form of thousands of abortion clinics across the land. This inconsistent ideal and the scourge of sexual diseases had also planted their venomous roots. Not to be worried, safe sex could still be had, or so it was proclaimed, and children were challenged to make their own decisions about when to have and how to have “safe sex” and how to safely take drugs no matter what their parents had to say about it, never mind the moral issues or the consequences to ones health and to decide their own perceived genders! Students were taught to turn in their parents if they felt they were being abused in some way. These things were not wrong anymore simply because society had decided it so. Nobody had stopped to ask what Elyon had felt! The nation seemed worn-out, wearing visages of the excessively burdened, overly paranoid and completely severed as a people and ravaged by rage. They seemed ready to sell their historic birthright for a mess of new-age porridge, ready to give away their liberty for the gods of peace, prosperity, promiscuity and security! This highly-technologically advanced society seemed to have taken on a life of its own, transforming its citizens into its slaves of selfishness, imprisoned by their own need of self-gratification. The American people now serviced the system rather than the other way around.

Was it all an accident? Was this simply the natural evolution of a free and forward-looking people or was this all a scheme; a well tooled and orchestrated game of Sodom killing Gomorrah? Issues such as surveillance, environment, social upheavals, genetic mutations, Same-sex marriage, Cyber-space technology, scandal ridden political leaders and new age religions seemed to rob the land of any vestige of the country that had once existed. Those who truly decried the lengths to which the government had to go to protect the people were few and far between. Everyone just wanted a safe and sterile place in which to play their evil and destructive games. Since the Swarm had overrun the world, new laws curtailing freedom of movement, speech and assembly had been passed by the United State’s Congress and signed by the President with no other alternative available. The public had generally accepted these measures. It was not so much that the people were oblivious to their reduced rights. It was also not exactly that they agreed with the provisions, which ran roughshod over the constitution. The key to the lack of civil unrest was that there was no other way to achieve even a semblance security without the Patriot Act and its offspring in the ensuing years. These laws were deemed as logical steps to save the nation. What everyone failed to ask was the obvious fact that if such measures were required to save the American nation then, the nation was logically and undoubtedly gone already. The world seemed to have shrunk. New sets of priorities, norms and values appeared in the newspapers, magazines and on the television screens.

The government seemed to be in collusion with forces that were, though unseen and intangible, very real as to their impact on the daily lives of the people. The primary goal had become the changing of the basic values, principles and precepts that had governed the lives of the United States since its inception of liberty as a nation. The nation had so rid itself of the burdens of righteous adherence to a righteous God that when a righteous president had come to power he was ridiculed, maligned, hated and found it impossible to pull the nation back from the brink. The need of keeping track of more than five billion people throughout the world had also become a major priority. From vacuum-tube computers as large as city blocks and containing as little as 64K memory, recent vast advances in computer technology such as chips as small as a fingernail containing massive amounts of gigabytes of ram now made the Star Wars phenomenon obsolete and ancient in comparison. Technological development had now made it possible to track the world’s population within ten feet of its location. The Swarm of evil urchins and their maze of infiltration caused all of these measures to become needed and unquestionably accepted by the masses though it still seemed impossible to track down the Swarm. Population control had always remained a sacrosanct secret in the public eye. Nevertheless, the programs, steps and various avenues of raising the acceptability of the experimental, inserted chip had been often discussed and proposed during annual, biannual and quarterly conferences and meetings of such groups as the Bildeburgers, World Bank, The Trilateral Commission and meetings of several Environmental groups and the Swarm’s circle. Several ways of achieving the goals of these social engineers were discussed in these secret meetings.

___________________________________________

Nimrod Rising - A Remnant Remains
From ancient times until today, through every travail and adversity that has afflicted mankind, when all has seemed lost and that there was no one left to hold to the truth, there has always been those that still held fast to the truth of mankind's special dignity and purpose, a remnant to cleave to the truth. Nimrod Rising demonstrates what can happen when the dignity of man is removed and what will take place when men forget that we are not mere accidents of nature. Watch "A Remnant Remains" and feel the that reality that is closer than you think to the truth. Will you be part of that Remnant?
Click To Watch All Nimrod Rising Trailers

___________________________________________

From credit cards to debit cards, to smart cards, it would soon become a reality that every American would eventually carry on his or her person, an electronic, description of physical features, family history, address, occupation, criminal record and income tax information, credit history and every possible element of one’s life that the government deemed necessary. The inserted chip would go one step further by going beyond the smart card in the wallet or purse that could be lost or stolen to a personalized chip worn at all times under the skin. There had been far too many victims of the Swarm. The government had a need to know all. Thanks to Hamid Assad, the young and intelligent successor to Osama Bin Laden, these evil locusts had infiltrated every facet of Western society and could be found in every nation. From the great political and financial cities of the world, such as Brussels, Luxembourg, London, Paris and New York, the agenda of the New World Order was rushed up because the attacks of Beelzebub had rocked the very lifelines of the free world. At home, the American government had given the Federal Emergency Management Agency 12.1 billion dollars for the purpose of setting up Mobil Operational facilities, developing a super sacrosanct secret police force and restoring and revamping military bases such as Tonapon, Nevada, and Barstow, the purpose of which was to form boot camps for the violent eradication of these insects who had changed America forever. These facilities eventually made Guantanamo pale in comparison. All of these events, people, groups and crises formed the skeleton of a diabolical system simply waiting to be covered with flesh and to have its nostrils filled with the breath of the devilish life of many languages, cultures and peoples moving ever so closely together.

Promises of peace and assurances of prosperity, it had all melted down creating an avalanche of deception and detestable outcries for change and a return to a past, gone though not forgotten. It would only prove attainable in some imaginary, mental Disneyland! Promises! Promises!

Here are a few other sites where you can read more of Steven Clark Bradley's material:

All of Steven Clark Bradley's novels are widely available all over the net. Here are a few links to help you read these exciting stories now.

Amazon.com
booksamillion.com
powells.com
bordersstores.com
barnesandnoble.com
copperfields.com

Nimrod Rising - As Real As It Gets!

Comments

Special Featured Post - So, How Do You Feel, Just Now

2008-10-02T05:32:12+02:00

So, how do you feel, just now? I wonder, have you stopped worrying about what just happen to the greatest economy of the world, indeed, the greatest economy of the history of the world, for that matter. Have you not taken your eyes off the heartbeat of the nation that is in need of a bypass? If not, then come with me and ponder on precisely where this “Bailout”, as it is termed, is going. Where will it all take us? Could it be a set of predetermined action that are simply the latest and most far reaching actions, as once again, civilization is led like bleating, dumb sheep to an eventual socialist enclave where government is entrenched in every hidden and visible way. Could it all just ultimately bind us to the Culture of Death, or has it already?

Let’s say it straight! This nation’s government almost fell this week, due to the greed, filthy lucre and the lust for more power than is prescribed. It will all have the most dreaded results for freedom. It will result in a society that decides who lives and who dies and in which everyone marched to the same dirge, dying for a country that is no longer mine! It is a painful transition, for those who still love the America that once was; to watch her run headlong into the abyss of the Culture of Death. Alas, it has all been foretold. It is all set in motion. This will lead to a world that no longer follows, but instead is plunged headlong into a future of despair. The Bush Administration has changed this nation from the most free into the most closely watched and most highly scrutinized society in the history of man! Whosoever gets elected always ends up serving the emerging Culture of Death in America in voluntary or involuntary ways. We are entering into infernal days.

Do we comprehend what we have just bequeathed to posterity? Perhaps a better interrogatory sentence would be, Do we really care about a society which sold its birthright for a mess of poisoned porridge.

On 1995, I had just returned from Turkey, where I had resided four productive years. I came back to live in an America that was at war with itself. Clinton was not the devil incarnate, but he represented the first major step out of the world of National Identity and national pride. It took us right into the New World Order, of which George H.W. Bush had only loosely spoken. Since those days in which the greatest national tragedy of that time was the President’s sex life, look how far we have traveled that road to collectivity, where everyone follows everyone else. It will shrink the globe and reduce our rights and bind us to the Culture of Death. The Christian era has expired.

I could feel these forces at work and I started writing a book that is more real than one would care to admit. It was titled, Nimrod Rising. I have published extensive materials from the book that took me 12 years to write. One of the parts of Nimrod Rising that I posted in many places was the chapter titled, Tick Tock. In light of this week’s profound financial disaster and deal-breaking bailouts, I want to republish this chapter

Tick Tock is in a portion of Nimrod Rising that seeks to help the reader regain their focus of what the book describes as the end of the US political and financial system. I hope you will read it and see how real and pertinent it is to today’s events.

Nimrod Rising – Tick-Tock

There is no way to overstate the fact that the political, moral and financial ground is shifting radically under our feet. Though many seem to pursue this change as something that will bring about peace and prosperity, the reality is that the transformation of America from a nation founded on Judeo-Christian ethics to a land grounded on pagan principles will do nothing other than to hasten the arrival of an evil so ripe with death and destruction that the land that most of us have loved and cherished will cease to exist in any recognizable form.

In the Nimrod Rising excerpt, "Tick Tock" you can look at the many and various forces that are even now bringing America to her knees. Pipe dreams of peace, short-sighted politician and leaders who are willfully weakening the nation's resolve are taking America into dismal day from which there will be no deliverance nor escape.

As you read this powerful section of Nimrod Rising, consider the dangers that now face us and remember the adage that is as true as it has always been that those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.

The clock is ticking, the minutes are waning and Nimrod is Rising! It's as real as it gets!

Nimrod Rising - Tick Tock Part One

1995 to 2010

The great shift had actually begun in the sixth decade of the twentieth century. It was, at first, a small movement of young, peace protesters and draft-dodgers. It was not until the nineties when one of their lot, who had actually marched down the streets of Moscow in protest of America, had risen by sheer cunning and innuendo to the top to become president and the leader of the free world. It had become a redundant title. For when the people’s hearts and minds no longer felt secure, there was no real freedom, and when the people no longer trusted their leaders to do what was right and to be what they could support, there seemed to be no one left to rule over.

It had all been proclaimed, declared, preached, protested, denied and detested for years! The common public had believed that the demise of the Soviet Empire would herald in a new era of peace and prosperity. It had even been given a name straight from the lexicons of political newspeak as “The Peace Dividend.” The ageless, and seemingly relentless, necessity of the huge military, industrial machine would diminish, or so the public was told. In addition, the peace-loving, doomsday-clock-fearing people were promised vast reductions in the federal budget which would, as the sewers of lies proclaimed, in a relatively short space of time, cut back the burden on tax-payers who had, after all, maintained the posture towards war at any given moment for over fifty years. The whole world was taking in fresh gasps of this new air of peace that had suddenly broken out everywhere. Then, hardly a decade later, two massive towers and three thousand American lives fell with a great destruction and death which the whole world mourned! It was then that the gates of Tenebre were swung open wide and the evil hoards of demons infested the soldiers of the Swarm! It had become a war that would have no end, for the day of Elyon was at hand.

The one hundred-day conflict in the Persian Gulf had hardly earned nor merited the title of a war, but its military impact seemed by no means minuscule, to say the least. The impact it had on the way the world communicated and the way in which would kill each other in future conflicts, even wars was so great that it could not yet be measured, at least not until the Swarm had festered. At least not until the slumbering masses in the land of the fat-cat free had been shaken awake by the alarm clock of blood and death on her streets by a new enemy that had no name, no look, no address, no conscience and no borders. It had been during the Persian Gulf conflict that the term “New World Order” first began to be heralded on the televisions and radios around the world on a daily basis. It soon became clear that some inconspicuous, intangible milieu of bearded and turbaned masters had raised the stakes in the game of peace making vs. waging war and were prepared to kill the child, never spare the mothers and to absolutely hunt down the fathers. The price to pay seemed now, for a peaceful non-explosive world, to dwarf the fears in American society concerning the federal deficit. No cost was too high! The cost accrued in the devastation of the Soviet Evil Empire seemed now to be minuscule in comparison with the new Swarm of evil minions that had stricken the land as a far more precarious adversary; one that seemed to have invaded from a known region of the world but was empowered by a force that was far outside of the tangible existence that could not be felt nor seen by humankind, because it was not human at all. This all was consuming the land internally during a time when the principles of right and wrong were being twisted and discarded for ideas that represented the constitution of the Evil One. It had engendered a design that systematically erased the needs of the few and maximized, in economic terms, the utility of the many. This new order had eroded the broken out everywhere. Then, hardly a decade later, two massive towers and three thousand American lives fell with a great destruction and death which the whole world mourned! It was then that the gates of Tenebre were swung open wide and the evil hoards of demons infested the soldiers of the Swarm! It had become a war that would have no end, for the day of Elyon was at hand.

_______________________________________

Nimrod Rising - In Depth
Nimrod Rising is a vast story of International significance, my setting is really two/fold. Steven Clark Bradley spent a large portion of his life in the cradle of civilization. This book should be read because it will speak to us about where we are going and what will be our consequences to bad actions in the future. It is a real treatise on America.
Click To Watch All Nimrod Rising Trailers

_______________________________________ The one hundred-day conflict in the Persian Gulf had hardly earned nor merited the title of a war, but its military impact seemed by no means minuscule, to say the least. The impact it had on the way the world communicated and the way in which would kill each other in future conflicts, even wars was so great that it could not yet be measured, at least not until the Swarm had festered. At least not until the slumbering masses in the land of the fat-cat free had been shaken awake by the alarm clock of blood and death on her streets by a new enemy that had no name, no look, no address, no conscience and no borders. It had been during the Persian Gulf conflict that the term “New World Order” first began to be heralded on the televisions and radios around the world on a daily basis. It soon became clear that some inconspicuous, intangible milieu of bearded and turbaned masters had raised the stakes in the game of peace making vs. waging war and were prepared to kill the child, never spare the mothers and to absolutely hunt down the fathers. The price to pay seemed now, for a peaceful non-explosive world, to dwarf the fears in American society concerning the federal deficit. No cost was too high!

The cost accrued in the devastation of the Soviet Evil Empire seemed now to be minuscule in comparison with the new Swarm of evil minions that had stricken the land as a far more precarious adversary; one that seemed to have invaded from a known region of the world but was empowered by a force that was far outside of the tangible existence that could not be felt nor seen by humankind, because it was not human at all. This all was consuming the land internally during a time when the principles of right and wrong were being twisted and discarded for ideas that represented the constitution of the Evil One. It had engendered a design that systematically erased the needs of the few and maximized, in economic terms, the utility of the many. This new order had eroded the concept that a country had sovereignty over its own destiny, concerns or people. The New World Order had instead cemented the idea in the minds of nations worldwide that no country could any longer concern itself primarily with its own needs and problems. It had become clear that no state could only concentrate on the policing of its own people.

There was a new conception, an abstraction: the people of the world would have to be taught to think globally and pass the “global test!” There was no longer an American community, a French community or any other community! There was just one big universal village that would protect each other from rogue states, should they seek to deviate from the prescribed path of peace, harmony and prosperity.

What was to be done to stop the Swarm from overtaking the fruited concrete plains of the New World Order by the armies of the Prince of Persia? It was precisely this order that had tamed nations into preserving the promise of global markets and confusing rights and wrongs. Yet, the degradation of national identities had forced the reticent and those who refused to play global ball to break out of the fray.

These self-perceived doers of good by evil means established worldwide organizational networks throughout the expanding underworld of fanatical Wahabi Allah worship and eventually united with those who simply loved to kill, maim and torture because they cherished mayhem. They grew to such an extent until nations could no longer defend or protect themselves from their terror, which they sought to impose on all perceived enemies. How could one declare war on the invisible nation of Nimrod? America had expanded its horizons from sea to shining sea. Blood, sweat and tears had forged it. There had always been that pioneering spirit that had first thrust people from all walks of life to set sail for the New World, and to survive there once they had planted their feet on the new soil. Yet, America had become a land striving for pleasure at any cost.

Here are a few other sites where you can read more of Steven Clark Bradley's material:

All of Steven Clark Bradley's novels are widely available all over the net. Here are a few links to help you read these exciting stories now.

Amazon.com
booksamillion.com
powells.com
bordersstores.com
barnesandnoble.com
copperfields.com

Nimrod Rising - As Real As It Gets!

Comments

Introducing Patriot Acts by Steven Clark Bradley

2008-09-01T00:03:24+02:00

Patriot Acts.
Trust and Betrayal,
Pride and Honor, Forgiveness and Revenge...
Today, America faces enemies that make the world of the Cold War seem like much brighter times. Islamic forces have declared Jihad on America causing the greatest threat to the life of the United States since World War II. Does the West love its freedom? Is America willing to take the measures that without which will render the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq useless?

Patriot Acts is a depiction of the probable results of inaction and the lack of resolve concerning Iran’s lust for weapons of mass destruction. As you read it, I hope you will compare it to the times in which we live. I predict we will take out this rogue regime and the world and America will be far better for it. For the absence of war does not equal peace. Refusal of war will most certainly spell defeat.

Watch Patriot Acts Video Trailer:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ePbQewMTmKI

In Patriot Acts, America finds itself under covert nuclear attack from the Islamic Republic of Iran which has linked up with radical American Militia groups. They have set aside their political and religious differences to carry out the widest attack to America in the nation’s history.

Watch Patriot Acts Video Trailer - The Enemy of My Enemy Is Not My Friend

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B_J_wh4W2OQ

Colonel Fisher Harrison, the best trained Special Ops killer the military has, is the only one person who can effectively retaliate against their aggression. The only problem is that Colonel Fisher is in a federal prison, framed for a murder he did not commit by his former boss who is now the President of the United States of America.

Watch Patriot Acts Video Trailer - Special Handling

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nKSwr_WItw0

Len Garret is another of the well defined and emotional characters of Patriot Acts. He is introduced with his feet up on his coffee table and thinking about all he had lived through that had brought him to his point of departure, which was at hand. He had some visitors who’d be arriving shortly. For the moment though, Garret held a bottle of Tequila in his hand and stared straight up at the portrait of his father that was hung prominently over the Fireplace. Garret had commissioned the painting himself, as a tribute the man who had both beaten him on a regular basis and who had instilled in him a stiff determination to never give into the internationalists, globalists, traitors, fags or any other lowlife epitaph that he could recall hearing his father use for those who ran the country and contrary to his set of rights and wrongs. Though Len Garret’s father was a feared and respected memory, that painting over the fireplace served more as a constant reminder that he had unfinished business to conduct than as an act of true feeling for the old man about whom even Len Garret, himself had wondered, not a few times, if his father Russell Garret had gone mad.

Watch Patriot Acts Video Trailer - Last Full Ounce Of Devotion

http://www.break.com/usercontent/2008/7/Patriot-Acts-Last-Full-Ounce-Of-Devotion-544089.html

Patriot Acts - Last Full Ounce Of Devotion - Watch more free videos

Book Review - Patriot Acts takes reality to a new level!

I have read all of Author Steven Clark Bradley's novels. They are all solidly riveting and Patriot Acts does not disappoint! Imagine the world that has allowed Iran to build the bomb and to plan to use it in America by way of an American surrogate. Today there are literally thousands of radical militia groups, on the left and the right, whose greatest desire is to take down the United States of America. Patriot Acts is a work that will keep you on the edge of your seat. You will feel the intensity of living through a very real and plausible National Crisis with the President of the United States. You will also get into the mind of the terrorist and understand their motivation that drives them to commit mass murder. Patriot Acts will not disappoint you either. I hope every America reads this novel. It will make you appreciate the efforts we are making to secure the nation and Patriot Acts may make you wonder why we are not doing more. Once again, Steven Clark Bradley has shown his prowess in spinning a story that that will keep you thinking long after you've read the last page. Jean Michael Presque Take an amazing journey from Alaska to the Midwest and to the center of the Islamic Republic of Iran as two enemies unite to save the nation from two adversaries in league to bring the country to its knees. You will be amazed how close to home and to reality Patriot Acts could be!

You can click the link below to get a copy of this exciting new ebook.
Patriot Acts at Mobipocket.com

Here are a few other sites where you can read more of Steven Clark Bradley's material:

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Revolutions of Freedom and of Terror

2008-08-03T06:08:42+02:00

Imagine your terror. You are the daughter of a minor nobleman. All you have ever known is your family's pleasant country house, which is surrounded by gardens and farms. One night you are dragged out of bed, dressed in servants' clothes, and rushed away in the old market cart. Your parents have been warned that the family is about to be arrested.

The concentration of power and wealth amongst a few at the expense of many is a recipe for unrest. A similar situation existed in during the revolutions in America and in France. The big difference between the two nations’ wars though is that, whereas in America the fear and trepidation existed before the war and was brought on by the occupying British, in France, the fear of being killed appeared after the monarchy was overthrown and was caused by the leaders of the revolution itself.

All revolutions are the moments in a nation’s history when the masses, that is to say, the millions of ordinary men and women, begin to participate in politics and take their lives and destinies into their own hands. Revolution stirs up society from the top to the bottom of its ability to survive. It mobilizes layers that were previously inert and non-political. There are many things that cause an entire nation to rise up against its own government. Those are times when the survival of a people gains more importance than the continuation of a people’s traditions that had marked them throughout their history. This was true of the American and French Revolutions, as well. Yet, there are many differences between the two freedom movements of Americans and the French. Therefore, we should look into the differences that led the French people and the American colonies to rise up and throw off their leaders’ yoke of bondage. Though both groups of commoners had similar goals and desires; the two movements ended up miles apart in terms of their final outcomes.

A careful study of the French Revolution provides a complete proof against those who have stated that the revolution in France was the work of tiny handfuls of conspirators and demagogues. In his work, A Brief History Of The Past Two Hundred Years, Raymond F. Betts wrote, “In sum, the French Revolution did many things, unleashed new forces, destroyed old ideas, offered new promises. Not the Revolution itself, of course, but the people who made it.” Europe in Retrospect: The French Revolution, the Ideology.

The role of the masses, otherwise known as the third estate, is fundamental in driving the revolution forward at every stage. Revolution is indeed a movement and a rebellion started and carried out by the neglected masses. Yet, though the French People had the ability to find the leadership needed to overthrow the monarchy, they lacked the willpower to guide the revolution after the monarchy had fallen. This is in great contrast to the thirteen colonies after England sued for peace. In comparison, it may be a bit unfair concerning the aftermath of the coup d’état. America had virtually ruled themselves for more than two centuries, by the time the nation ratified the constitution. When the fighting had ceased and the numbers of dead Americans were still unknown, the new nation had already constructed a political, economic and judicial apparatus with which to rule and defend its newly independent people. Though America faced difficulties in the style and form of its government, the years of cultural development and economic help from the King of France during the revolution all helped to keep the fledgling nation together.

In contrast, France’s revolution for Equality, Liberty and Fraternity quickly descended into a virtual state of terror after the king’s head was separated from the King’s crown. France’s populace had been the victim of a feudal system that had left them ailing, very poorly educated and very angry. The leaders of the French Revolution were men of great skill. Mirabeau was a great orator and able statesman. Danton was a figure larger than life, the rallying point of the revolution at a moment of terrible danger. Robespierre, with all his faults and lust for power, was a very brave representative of the Jacobins who had really united the masses of Paris’ poor to carryout the Revolution. As could be expected, the latter-day bourgeois critics of the Revolution had reserved all their most venomous spite for the most consistently revolutionary figures. Men like Hébert a most consistent leader of the masses, is given little attention. It is sad how each of these men and many others finally turned upon each other.

The leaders who led the rebellion turned it into a court of blood, suspicion and deadly intrigue. The only thing that seemed to stop the spree of guillotined nobles and suspected conspirators was when the revolution finally turned on itself. Robespierre’s acquiescence in the ordered execution of the outspoken and very popular Danton represented the beginning of the end for the rebellion that the French Revolution had unleashed. If the leadership had had similar experience in running a nation as the United States enjoyed after it successful revolt, perhaps the streets of Paris would not have flowed with so much French blood. When the revolution devolved into the mayhem that ensued, active participation of the masses ebbed and the revolution came to a complete stop; going actually backwards causing the French public to long for the days they had just decapitated. Instead of a movement toward freedom being carried out, as the American Revolution had done, the rebellion was taken hostage by a group of leaders who not only matched and exceeded the brutality of the monarchy, but also failed to change the lives of the people. Instead of starvation by neglect, now anyone thought to have collaborated or thought to be thinking of collaboration were quickly rushed to revolutionary France’s version of a humane death by guillotine. Probably the most historic and important thing that the French Revolution accomplished was to pave the way for the empire that Napoleon Bonaparte soon after founded.

Some of the primary causes for the French Revolution can be found in the class structure of the three estates. The Clergy, which held major sway in the rule of France and all other monarchies that ruled over the people, was the First Estate and received special favors and access. This brought on a lot of apathy and distain for the church. During the history of France, the church had tried and succeeded in interjecting its power and demands by threatening the monarchies with excommunication. It was from the Church that kings and queens derived their divine right to rule. Those who refused to submit to the Pope could never hope to be protected by the Vatican.

Contrarily, America’s experience and causes for revolution were vastly different to issues and reasons for France’s war. Americans had come to the shores of the new world with the great hope of building their evangelical faith in a free land where no one could ever persecute them again for their love of God. In contrast, The French Revolution was not only a push to rid the people of its selfish and neglectful political system. It was also a defiant fist in the air against the church. Whereas America encouraged growth of the church before, during and after the war, France’s revolution was a coup to throw off the church as an impediment to political and economic development.

The Second Estate that made up the three leveled society of pre-revolutionary France was the Nobility. The aristocracy in France had treated its people as mere servants. While the people were in the throws of starvation, King Louis XV was living a lavish life and conducting himself without the slightest concern for the plight of the Third Estate, the commoners, who represented the majority of the population. It is well rumored that King Louis the Fifteenth’s last words were, “After me, the flood!” Though only tradition, the words seem plausible in light of the king’s flippant and wasteful lifestyle in his court.
Another major catalyst for the rebellion and the death of the monarchy in France was due to the major role that the Age of Enlightenment had played over many years. This movement had planted seeds of freedom and free thought that had no alternative but to eventually overthrow the obstacles to the development of change and freedom. This Western movement had had a great influence also on thirteen colonies over in the New World, which had just started to thumb its nose at its sovereign. The ideals of the Age of Enlightenment, that though today may seem passé, were powerful and revolutionary in the days of the Louis IVI and Robespierre. So powerful were they that even music and scores were determined as divisive and banned from Europe’s concert halls because of the political fervor they induced. The opera, Figaro serves as a great example of this historical truth. When Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart wrote his opera, Figaro, it was banned from many stages throughout Europe.

Simply put, the Age of Enlightenment had challenged the historic view that Kings devised their power by the rule of God and the Church. Therefore, the Age of Enlightenment challenged the established rule of a king’s divine right to rule. The new thought of the enlightenment not only launched a challenge to the ruling elite of nobility, but it also served as a direct threat to the clergy of the Catholic Church that had propped up the established monarchies throughout Europe. In addition, because the various thrones throughout Europe were all intermingled due to inner marrying for peace-making purposes, the whole thought of absolute rule was brought into questions. Perhaps the only kingdom to have ever responded to its people’s outcries was Great Britain when it produced the Magna Carte, which was a direct inspiration for the American Revolution, many years later. It is interesting to point out as well that the only monarchy to have survived this powerful force unleashed in the 1700’s is the Crown of England.

The American Revolution had writers such as John Lock and Thomas Jefferson and many others. Nevertheless, while the French Revolution fought for freedom from the King and from Christendom, post-revolutionary America experienced a great spiritual awakening which propelled the United States into the greatest gospel-propagating nation of its time. Preachers like Jonathan Edwards and Charles Finny saw great masses of people turn into dedicated servants of Christ. It was said that some cities even witnessed great numbers of taverns shut down due to the lack of clientele. The results of the French revolution were quite different, which left the cathedrals and chapels empty throughout France. The Catholic Church in France has never really recovered.

Another aspect of the Age of Enlightenment that motivated rebellion was that the new ideals for life appealed to bourgeois grievances. The ideals and writings of the Age of Enlightenment had served as a base from which to lodge their complaints and desires for change in the ruling nobles. In addition, the desire to conduct free trade and to see an expansion of the Third Estate’s financial stability drove the commoners to demand that they be allowed to conduct business in a freer atmosphere. The development of Third Estate commerce was a great threat to the nobility. The best way to insure submission was to keep the populous weak and needy.

In addition to the cultural cast system and the Age of Enlightenment; another major cause of the French Revolution was the financial difficulty into which the ruling class had allowed the nation to fall. The financial reform problems of debt and the financing many overly ambitious wars had had no affect on the lavish lifestyles of the nobility. It was the commoners, the Third Estate, who bore the brunt of the bad decisions of the monarchy. The king and his family continued to spend extravagantly on their courts while the people starved. Consequently, it was the peasants and the bourgeoisie that paid all the hefty taxes that were levied to pay for the bad investments and rich lifestyles while the Second Estate, the nobility, refused to give up any of their tax concessions. The role of women in the French revolution is a graphic illustration of this fact. Among the most decisive moments in the revolution was the fifth of October 1789, when six or seven thousand women of Paris marched in the pouring rain to Versailles to demand bread and to force the king to move to Paris. The men were shamed into joining this strange procession of "the baker, the baker's wife and the baker's boy" which turned the king of France into a virtual prisoner of a revolutionary people.

Another important point in the drive toward revolution in France was the king himself. Louis XVI was a king who could be described as an introvert. He spent little time concerning himself with the people’s needs and concerned himself mainly with the needs of his court. He had been raised with the nobles and that along with an obtuse, weak demeanor caused him to simply disregard the signs of rebellion festering under the current of court games and its frivolous lifestyle. In addition, King Louis XVI seemed incapable of taking strong and decisive action. He was a caretaker and filled his days with the games and pomp and circumstance of his office. Also, his wife, Queen Marie Antoinette, had great influence on the king. Though the words that have been ascribed to her are probably exaggerated, she did demonstrate a true distain for the French subjects and cared little for the people’s plight.

In the case of the Americans, the new-world patriots were aiming their arrows of descent at the British Crown. Yet, after the war, the new nation pulled together and a class society was formed that allowed the growth of all levels of society. The idea of equality was not really a foundation stone of the American Revolution. Americans had lived together, rich and poor since the founding of Jamestown. Yet, when the American people compared the “Nobility” of the new nation to the nobility of England, the new leadership seemed far more just and even handed. The nation revered its forefathers even in poverty, because they felt their interests were taken into consideration.

Finally, it cannot be minimized just how big a role the American Revolution played in the development of the French war against their monarchy. It has been pointed out that there were many differences between the French and American revolutions. Yet, the purposes and the doctrine of the American Revolution did give an impetus for the French to finally rise up and take the government by force. Also, the presence of French soldiers on American soil during the American Revolution did introduce new ideas of liberty and economic freedom in the minds of the leaders of the French rebellion. French soldiers who returned to France had new ideas and goals and quickly shared their views throughout the nation. As a result, the ideal proclaimed by the American forefathers and the wording of the American Declaration of Independence caused a yearning for more liberal freedoms for all people. It caused the people to let down their hesitancy to take up arms against the tyranny they faced in their own nation. It forced the people to understand that the only way to get out from under the terrible taxes of the lavish king was to call for no taxation without proper representation. All of this gave the people the common belief that a republican form of government was superior to a monarchy.

Is America perhaps in the midst of a new revolution? The current election has the potential of changing the land of the free forever. Barack Obama represents leadership that will take the nation toward social revolution where we will see a plethora of blushing, bearded brides. His persona is an enigma that is far more visible and available than the biased American press would lead us to believe. This nation that has been at war with Islamic radicals throughout the world is about to elect a man who finds his roots in faith of Mohammed. That, in itself, represents a revolution of thought and practice that will render the war on terror unwinnable. These changes are dangerous side of democracy that still must be preserved. If a land is ready to relinquish its hold on power and ready to yield the role of superpower, then such risky revolutions shall be inevitable.

The greatest protagonist of Revolution has no name. It is the revolutionary people themselves; those countless unknown and unsung heroes, activists and heroines from both America and and the world who embody the mainspring of the entire process. There are great differences in goals, ideals and results in the wars that turned America and France into the nations they are today. It will be interesting to see how the future revolutions of these two countries, both violent and bloodless, will develop. What is sure is the true words heard time and time again that nothing can stop an idea whose time has come. Until then, Vive La Revolution! - Steven Clark Bradley

All of Steven Clark Bradley's novels are widely available all over the net. Here are a few links to help you read these exciting stories now.

Amazon.com
booksamillion.com
powells.com
bordersstores.com
barnesandnoble.com
copperfields.com

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NEW - Patriot Acts Video Trailer - NEW

2008-07-15T15:45:54+02:00

Take A look at the new Patriot Acts Video Trailer!
Today, America faces enemies that make the world of the Cold War seem like much brighter times. Islamic forces have declared Jihad on America causing the greatest threat to the United States since World War II. In Patriot Acts, America finds itself under covert nuclear attack from a unified force of the Islamic Republic of Iran and radical American Militia groups; setting aside their political and religious differences to carry out the widest and deadliest attack on America in the nation's history. Only one person can effectively retaliate against their aggression, Fisher Harrison, the best trained Special Ops killer the military has who is in a federal prison, framed by his former boss, now the President of the United States of America for a murder he did not commit. From Alaska to the heart of the Islamic Republic of Iran, witness two unified seek to bring down The United States of America, while two others bond to save her. You will be amazed how plausible this story is and you will be shocked by how close to reality it truly could be!

No Unconditional Talks - Just Patriot Acts!

You can read lots more from Steven Clark Bradley at these sites. You might even find some Stories That Read You! at:

All of Steven Clark Bradley's novels are widely available all over the net. Here are a few links to help you read these exciting stories now.

Amazon.com
booksamillion.com
powells.com
bordersstores.com
barnesandnoble.com
copperfields.com

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Probable Cause - Tools Of The Trade

2008-07-10T07:00:14+02:00

Summary of this Book...

Have you ever wished you could decide the best way to right a serious wrong done to you? Chief Inspector Corbett (Core) Mandeville was the best of the best in solving the worst crimes in his state…until now. He and a killer have an uncanny affinity, with more than one attitude in common. This crime is too close to Core’s own heart and experience for comfort. This killer has a reason for his crime, and Core understands it completely. Get into the mind of the killer and the cop. Find a link that makes for exciting, lethal and profound act of vengeful justice. You will be tantalized and amazed by how similar they both can be when all their actions are
based on a new set of core values.

I especially liked...

This book is a ride that takes you deep into a plot that has no limits! I found the mind of the killer very well revealed and as much as I tried not to understand his cruel plot, it somehow seemed rational. That was concerning to me. But then there was the detective, Core. He was smart and clever and not far removed from the killer himself. The ending is amazing and I loved this book! I hope this author will write more books just as good as this one!

The author of this Book...

Steven worked a number of years in various countries in Europe, Asia, and Africa. He has been to 34 countries and has worked extensively with Kurdish refugees from Turkey, Iraq, and Syria. Steven also established a school by correspondence for African students in the African countries of The Gambia and Senegal West Africa. He is the founder of a Cultural Center for refugees in France, where he lived for six years. Speaking fluently in French and in Turkish, Steven has been in 34 countries.

I recommend this Book because...

I recently read Probable Cause. This novel is one of intense desire to take back one's life that was ripped away by infidelity and betrayal. All of us have been hurt in many of the same ways that Steven Clark Bradley describes in his new novel, Probable Cause. This story about two mens' reactions to betrayal, one the killer and the other one the investigator, gets into the mind and puts the reader right at the same level of emotion that the characters have. It forces the reader to really look into their own hearts as they read. This is not just a murder novel. In reality it is a love story, about a love so real and profound that nothing can stand in the way of putting the shattered pieces back together again. Core, the detective, wants to catch the killer, but he too has been wounded and bruised and battered internally by the very same things that Grag Bradford has endured. His affinity with Greg Bradford realy puts the story into some amazing thrilling twists. It is enthralling to watch the acts of vengence and the reaction of a cop as he remembers his own remorse during his time of pain and depression at the loss of his trust in his fellow man and in his woman. If you want to read a story that will bring make vengence seem like justice and a book that is a real page turner, then Probable Cause is the book for you. I give it an A in my report card!

Further Comments...

It will make you think before you commit an act that can totally devastate a person's life. Fidelity is not just a virtue, it is a requirement.

Tools of the Trade

It was all under control. There had been a certain amount of improvising, but Greg found that he adapted well. He had come to realize that the thing that caused many a “Perfect Murder” to fail were feelings of guilt and fears. Even Greg was amazed that he now possessed neither. He knew he should be troubled by that, but he felt actually invigorated. He was totally compartmentalized and his eyes remained on the prize. He had already tucked the letter to his beloved Lisa in his pocket and had cleaned up the spots of blood that had fallen on the floor. He had looked at the bed and it was quite soaked with it now, but the jerk had been a thorn in his side ever since he moved in. Greg chuckled when he recalled the look of shock written across his Barney’s face. In Greg’s mind, it was a sight to behold.

“Just ask me if I am powerless now?” Greg asked himself and the snoozing public as he fastened the utility belt across his waist.

It was now 4:30 AM. No one would check on him anymore for the night. As far as the peaceful masses knew, he was sound asleep. He had about 2 hours to get to the security vehicle and get off the grounds. He knew he would have to ditch it as soon as possible and he no longer needed to check out. He had signed his release in blood. Now he just needed to get into the dental services office and grab a few needed tools of the trade. He would have need of them later in the day. Greg found the master key and inserted it into the lock. He turned the knob and walked into the dentist’s office. He knew where it all was. He had built quite a good relationship with Dr. Fisher.

He opened the utility cabinet and took out two tooth pullers. They were rarely used anymore and not at all sterile, but that did not matter tonight. He took what he needed and took up his walk and made his way out the back door and walked over to the security vehicle. He found the key and got in and drove up to the main gate. When he got there the security guard saw Greg in his uniform and simply waved him through. The employee turnover was so great, for all the gate knew, he was simply a new guard and he had all the trappings of security. It was about the time that the last check would have been done and it was nothing less than totally normal. Now all Greg had to do was ditch this vehicle for one far less conspicuous and he knew just where to get one.

By the time that Greg had gotten out of the compound and had gotten a safe distance away from Longcliff, it was already 5:42 AM. Greg had about one hour before Barney’s body would be discovered. Greg drove into Logansport and into an area, which was renowned for covens. He found the house where he had met with Queen Lizza. He drove past it and parked the security van about four blocks away. Before he got out he checked that he had the letter to Lisa and the little bag of tricks he had stolen from the utility room and the Dental Services office, including his old set of teeth and looked for a security pistol that he knew was in the vehicle somewhere. To his surprise, it was in the glove compartment. He checked the clip and it was full of tranquilizer darts. There was now just a twinge of daybreak in the air and the fog was lingering thickly over the bluffs that surrounded the hospital. He had to be very precise in his use of time. Once he got into the house of the female devil he could take his time. Greg began to laugh.

“Stupid old witch, shouldn’t she know that I was coming and that I intended to too…?”

But the house was dark and no one was awake. He knew that she was totally unaware of just how soon she would meet her master! Or, was she?

Greg pulled a small crow bar from his little bag of tricks. He walked around to the side of the house and bent down at one of the basement windows. Greg was thin and was sure he would fit in one of those midget windows. He forced the end of the crowbar and the window popped open. That scared Greg a bit. It was just too easy.

“Maybe her Master is sick of her too?” Greg wondered.

He shined the laser light into the basement and had to clasp his mouth to stop a scream resulting from what he saw in front of his face. Then he saw what it was. It was just a mask, horrifying, nevertheless. He knew that this evil woman had somehow gotten to his head. She needed getting rid of. He pushed it away quietly and slid inside and closed the window. The basement was clean and had lots of satanic paraphernalia. He looked around for a moment and then found the stairs. He was sure that the door at the top of the stairs would be locked but was surprised that it was not. As he opened it he saw that it led directly into the kitchen. He stepped into destiny and pulled out the service revolver. As he walked into the kitchen he saw a light come on in the living room to the right. Greg checked his pulse and it was racing. He knew he had not prepped himself enough for this chapter.

“Mr. Bradford”

Greg turned his head toward the living room and knew that she had been waiting for him. He walked in the room and saw Queen Lizza sitting in her rocking chair and fully dressed.

“So why you want to kill me sir? Have I led you astray up to now?”

Greg now knew now that this woman was the real McCoy.

“You were very calm tonight you know. I was impressed with the determination in your soul, Mr. Bradford”

Greg walked into the living room with the gun pointed out straight in front of him. He saw her and aimed it directly at her.

“How did you know about tonight?”

“Oh, you mean about your Barney, sir?”

Greg stared very intently at her when she used that name. No one could know that he called the old fool by that name.

“HAHA! Can’t get much by me, Mr. Bradford. Now, please put that gun down. It is not needed in this house. We are both about the same business ya know. Did you know I am from Jamaica?”

“You all are, aren’t you?”

“Oh, no, sir that place has far more enemies of the Master than friends. That is why we all come over here. Anyway, we have perfected many things. You put your hand down and I will put mine up.”

Greg dropped his hand to his side with the pistol pointing to the floor. Queen Lizza held her left hand up and she let a set of keys dangle downward in the air.

“Isn’t this what you came for? I even filled the tank for you. Here you go.”

She tossed the keys to Greg’s feet.

“Why are you doing this? I was going to kill you and you knew it.”

“Mr. Bradford, you are a desperate man. Your soul has been ripped out of you and I have been there also, I do not want to die, and why should I when we are so similar in so many ways. I know you do not openly serve the master, but I too am a person and you need to take back what your heart desires. So, do it well Mr. Bradford. I hope you die a very violent death tonight. Tell me about it later, ok?”

Greg bent down and took the keys.

“What if the police question you? You could destroy everything.”

“And why would they? And why would I? Is there anything linking us together? I have given you the car. There is no sign of violence in this house. Before you leave, you better close that window in the basement.”

“I already did.”

“I missed that, hmmm, that is concerning.”

“I hate to tell you this, Miss Devil, but I do not serve your master.”

“What! You do not serve the master? HAHA! Who were you serving very early this morning, Mr. Bradford? Jesus? Oh you serve the master! When you wake up and keep his system afloat, you are serving him. Even the Bible says he is the Prince of the power of the air, Sir, ya know, so never fear, Mr. Bradford, you serve him and he likes what he sees in you, so far. But just keep telling yourself that you are doing it all for yourself. Greed and selfishness are by far the greatest motivating emotions. The master was the first to use them, ya know. So, go forth, Mr. Bradford and do not look back.”

Queen Lizza put her left hand up to her forehead and closed her eyes. Greg thought she was about to put some curse on him and pointed the gun at her. With her eyes still closed she said,

“You better be going, Mr. Bradford and please put the gun down. I have no intension of cursing you. In fact, I have placed a blessing of success over you. Remember? That makes me a cohort, does it not? By the way, the light is coming outside and a certain housekeeper is just about ready to open a certain door, Mr. Bradford, back at the house of my master.”

“What are you talking about?”

Then Greg realized that she was talking about Longcliff. Greg looked at her and thought he should say thank you or something.

“Mr. Bradford, A thank you is not in order here, Sir. It could be interpreted as a sign of weakness. Just go! I hate that car anyway!”

“What you gonna replace it with, a hearse?”

Greg turned and walked to the kitchen and walked out the back door. Destiny was all around him and he headed straight for it. Queen Lizza began to tremble. She knew how close she had come to death and it was not as pretty as she had imagined it would be. Then she heard it.

Back at Longcliff, a housekeeper had just entered into Greg’s room. She saw a sleeping patient there. She decided to quietly gather up the dirty laundry and then she saw it, the blood, the open eyes staring straight up to the ceiling!

“Help! Help! Oh my God! Help!”

You can read lots more from Steven Clark Bradley at these sites. You might even find some Stories That Read You! at:

amazon.com
barnesandnoble.com
bordersstores.com
booksamillion.com
powells.com
copperfields.com

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Quality of Life – Supreme Judgment Part Two

2008-06-29T08:05:12+02:00

Decisions - Decisions, we all have to make them. What if you had the responsibility of making a decision that would change the world we live in for ever? Would you feel the weight of the burden that you bore and hear the voices in your mind of those that it would affect? Read Part Two of Quality of Life – Supreme Judgment see how power can be wielded for good and for evil. Quality of Life is a work in progress by Thriller and Suspense Author Steven Clark Bradley. It will eventually become part four of his very powerful book, Nimrod Rising. Like that suspenseful novel, Quality of Life is as real as it gets.

Quality of Life – Supreme Judgment Part II

…Saul walked out toward the waiting limousine. He felt the cool night air enter into his lungs and it refreshed his senses. That voice and the man, whoever it was…whatever it was…if he was at all, had been almost like a fist to the gut and had knocked the wind out of him. The fresh air felt better than his first hot cup of coffee in the morning! He took a few steps toward the car and heard voices in the night air. He was sure they were real, but slightly doubted himself. He turned and looked at the guard accompanying him.

“Do you hear that?”

“What is that, Justice Saul? You mean those voices…the protesters? Yes, they’ve been out there all night. We were all a bit worried that you were still here so late with them out there and still wide awake.”

“Are they out there about tomorrow? What are they doing; carrying signs and dressed all up in black…you know painted faces and look all ominous and all?”

“No sir, they are praying.”

“Praying?”

“Yes Sir, praying for you.” said the guard while opening the limousine door for Justice Saul.

Justice Saul slid into the car and it quietly pulled out onto First Street and he could see where the voices were coming from. He had expected anger and aggressive signs. What he saw surprised him. There were no darkly-clad images in the night. Instead, he saw groups of men and women huddled together and praying for God to give Justice Laurence Saul wisdom in his ruling. The signs spoke volumes to the Justice also.

“God Guide you, Justice Saul!” “We are praying for you, Justice Saul.” “Please think about the children!” “Constitutional =The death of America! / Unconstitutional =America has a future!”

“Slow down Peter. I want to watch this for a moment.”

“Yes Sir, but it could be dangerous.”

“Dangerous? They’re praying! They’re praying for me of all things!”

“A lot of us are doing that, Sir.”

Saul opened the back window and peered outside. There was no violence and those who carried the signs while the others prayed also kept a lookout for any opposing groups of thugs that might appear at any time. Everyone knew that America was only hours away from literally changing America completely and forever; everyone including Supreme Court Justice Laurence Saul. One of the lookouts saw the Justice’s face staring out of the car window. He dropped his sign and fell to his knees with his face bowed low and placed both hands in jacket’s pockets. The protester slowly raised his face up to meet Saul’s gaze. The man’s looked directly into Saul’s eyes and smiled ominously! His face became immediately clear to Justice Saul.

“My God! That’s him! That’s him Peter!”

“Who…who is it, Sir?”

“It’s that man I met in the building!”

“You mean the guard, Sir?

“Never mind Peter! Just put it in gear and get out of here!”

The man pulled his hands out of his pockets. He was squeezing on a live grenade in each! He stood up on his feet! Saul’s driver, Peter saw nothing. Then the man with a disfigured face and blood-stained holes on his military fatigues took on an angry look and shouted at Saul!

“Enemies of Humanity all!” He then reared back and threw a grenade at Saul’s car and quickly turned and threw the other one across the street into a small group of supporters of the bill on which Saul would soon have to rule.

“Peter, didn’t you see that! Get the hell out of here! Before we…”

The grenade flew right through the window and landed in the back seat next to Saul and a blast rang out! Saul felt his skin ripping off his bones and the searing heat melted his eyes and he knew he had died! Then, everything was silent. Slowly, ever so carefully, Saul touched his eyes. They were still there! He was afraid to opened them! He called out Peter’s name. There was no answer.

“Peter! Peter! Are you ok? Are you alive?” No answer!

Finally, Saul forced his eyes open and looked and saw his driver, Peter sitting at the wheel waiting to be told what to do! The back glass separating Saul from the driver was closed. Saul hit the switch and it slid down.

“Are you ok, Peter?”

“Yes sir, I am fine. Are you sure you are alright, Sir. I’m beginning to worry

about you.”

“You have to call 911, Peter! We have to help those people!”

“Where, Justice Saul? Is someone hurt?”

“I should say so! Didn’t you hear the explosion?!”

“No, Sir.” Peter responded and turned around to look at Saul. Justice Saul began to scream!

The man at the wheel was the same one who had just tossed the grenades.

“But you heard them, didn’t you?” the man said as he reached back and took Saul into his grip and pulled him up to the window!

"You’re gonna hear a lot tonight and you ain’t seen nothing yet!” Saul screamed a blood-curdling scream and opened his eyes again. He saw Peter on the phone calling for help.

“Put it away, Peter.”

“Sir, it is my duty to…”

“Put it away, I’m alright, I assure you.”

The car pulled out and the praying crowd waved at Saul. The sleeping remnant of the bill supporters, from earlier in the day, raised their middle fingers toward the prayerful group and shouted.

“Tomorrow, everything’s going to change! You’ve had your day!”

They began to chant, “Free Sex!” “Gay Rights” “Death Rights!” “Reproductive Rights!”

Saul’s limousine drove on, but he had heard them. He sat back and reflected on it all. He was certain, almost, that he had simply allowed himself to let his nerves shake his resolve. Saul was a true constitutionalist. Yet, the doctrine that espoused that the constitution was a living document had gained a lot of prominence in the past decade. Many cases had been decided or gone unheard by the court based on the living nature of the now tattered document. He had always believed that society needed to cleave to the document that was set in stone. That was why he had been nominated and why he had faced such an uphill battle during his confirmation hearings in the first place. Yet, beyond his ability to see it or to notice it, he had been affected by it all. The sodomy ruling, the failure of the court to rule on the Shiavo case during the Rehnquist Court’s purview had truly helped cement the living document into the social psyche. It had created precedents for future rulings that had naturally led to the case before the court that had rent Justice Saul’s amoral logic asunder!

Now here he sat, in stunned silence, trying to understand the upside and downside of something just five short years earlier would have been decided on a good night’s sleep! Yes, everything would change tomorrow, no matter how he ruled, but one thing was already sure. Judge Laurence Saul had changed already. It was as though he were in a trance until he heard the driver communicating with Secret Service.

“Trump Card is at the perimeter and requesting access.”

“Roger that Trump Card, you are clear and in the perimeter. Joining your progress as we speak.”

“My-oh-my, Peter, I don’t know if I fell asleep or just staring off in space.”

“That’s ok, Justice Saul. You’ve got a lot on your mind, but it was the latter, sir.”

“Latter?”

“Space, Sir. You were just staring into space.”

Saul just acknowledged with a small groan and a shake of his head.

The lights of Saul’s home could be seen in the distance as they illuminated the night haze of valley where it sat. It always gave off its greenish glow into the mist. Tonight, though it seemed different, somehow murkier than usual. Saul looked out the window at the trees streaming by as the car made its way down the winding path that led to his front door. It was a mystical and somewhat fearful site, considering all he had heard and seen tonight. He rather feared for his sanity. He was sure Peter, up front driving steadily and constantly looking back at his boss with worried eyes, had no doubt that Justice Saul had met his match of wills when it came to “The Individual Rights and Termination Bill” or IRAT as it had become known. Many had simply added an “E” to the end and expressed their feeling toward it.

Saul had read both sides of the issue and both the dissent and the approval reasonings from his fellow colleagues. It had constantly been an illogical and hypocritical thing in his mind that they who supported the right to die at will, the right of women to terminate what Justice Laurence Saul had always regarded as human life in their wombs were always the first and the loudest to cry murder at the execution of someone who had taken the life of another without their consent.

It seemed duplicitous, to say the least. Yet, as the leaders of such groups were never wanting in their fervor to declare, those cases involved the deaths of individuals who, albeit heinous in life, had never given own consent to their own deaths. That somehow made sense to Saul, though it never had some five short years earlier. Washington tended to change a person, altered the mind due to a constant barrage of analysis of a public figure’s every move. Every word was measured, every restaurant was given a special significance and any human weakness seemed a scandal no matter how common it might seem for the common American.

It had taken its toll on Justice Laurence Saul, as well. Family values and morals groups had a lot of hope in Saul and though they were worried that he could pull a surprise on them, they fully expected him to rule with the dissent and declare the measure unconstitutional. Yet, the new pagans, as they were loathed to be so designated, on the left, who were far less numerous in their ranks, but who always shouted the loudest, also had reason to hope. Saul was a deeply conservative man and had always declared his adherence to family values. That is, until he, himself was faced with his own personal tragedy.

As Saul’s car continued its approach along the path towards his semi-stately manor, his mind went back to a more tender time in his life. It was a moment in the life of every person when they longed to be adult and shed the confusion of being a minor-almost-adult. In fact, he found adulthood far more befuddling, which made those days of malaise so enticing now. It was during that time that he had met her. Saul had met many young budding potential brides during his college years. It seemed harder to find a perfect mate at Harvard, and he suspected it was no less difficult at any IVY League school. It wasn’t that they were so much brighter and lofty than the “run-of-the-mill” institutions, just richer and better pruned.

Though today, there was little to distinguish the beauties in any school throughout America, in Saul’s day of cracking the books into the wee hours of the night, they were all prim and proper and one could never be too sure or too careful before bowing the knee to make promises that always seemed impossible to keep. Yet, then, at that time of valor and honor, one did keep their word and he was not about to get stuck with some lovely shining thing who’d end up being a hollow statue, a mere shell of the woman he had first met. So, he waited, but he had never stopped looking. Then, when he had lost the research volume he had checked out and had gone to the circulation desk at the Harvard Law Library to plead for mercy, he decided to just pay for the book rather than sounding like a blathering buffoon to the beautiful proper thing behind the desk. He had looked at her name tag that read Emma and then into her face. When he had told her he had to pay for the lost volume she said he should take a little more time to look for it and extended his grace period along with a smile that told him she had noticed him too. His eyes said a lot of things to Emma that day and His heart knew her right there and then, something only men could understand and which women never comprehended but had fully learned to use to its fullest advantage. From that day on, he could count only two things that had never changed one iota in his life. He had never stopped gazing into Emma’s face and he had never paid for the book.

From the time he had met her, asked her for that first date, bent his knee to her and extended her finger and held her in his arms on their first night of passion, he had loved Emma and had kept every promise he had made to her, except one.

Throughout Saul’s rising career, when he had one more case, one more meeting to attend or one more opinion for her to listen to, she had made almost no demands on her husband. Through his busy, always working days, doing things that he new were vital, but which meant virtually nothing to her, he had never stopped gazing into her face and Emma knew her man loved her. She had been bright, supportive and content to stay right there and raise their one daughter, Isabel or Iggie as everyone one called her because as a child she could say the “z” sound. Theirs had been one of those remnant relationships that had truly been made in heaven. It seemed that everything they touched turned to gold, until the gold had run dry.

“Cancer? Cancer!” Saul shouted in his mind. He looked around in the car to make sure he had not done so audibly. The fly in the ointment, that one stroke that destroyed my masterpiece!” he told himself. Emma had been there with him throughout his meteoric rise to power and had been his very own very best advisor and supporter. She had taken his side even when she knew he was wrong, only correcting his way in the most placid and private manners.

“She knew her man!” he concluded.

Now, here he was, face to face with the biggest decision of his life, and no less so for the nation and the one person he had never doubted one time was no where to be found. It was exactly that, Emma’s absence, Emma’s harsh, lingering, soul-numbing death that made his decision tomorrow appear so hard to arrive at. He had always believed in life. He had opposed abortion and had always felt that no one had the right to end anyone’s life, even their own. Yet, had he not been charged with the awful reality that his wife’s life was gone and there was no hope. Had he not pulled the plug that at least kept her chest rising and descending, giving a semblance of life? He did not want anyone to have to makes such decisions on their own again, because he knew full well how painful that was, but he had not regretted trying and that was the other side of the picture in his mind. He had promised to save her life. He had literally gone to the ends of the Earth to help her while he had sat there with her as she wasted away to nothing as he had seen her chest rise for the last time remaining there in suspended animation while her sight faded and as he whispered his last, “I love You” to her. It was a final conclusion he had prepared himself for physically, but for which he had utterly failed when the final devastating moment arrived.

Saul had heard Emma’s voice many times since her death. He had always put the sounds of her laugh and her voice in thin air over to a vivid imagination longing for her touch, her smell and her counsel. He had never sought it out, but she seemed to be with him every where he went. Now, he was actually seeking her advice. Who could know better what was right concerning his all-important issue? Yet, when he truly needed some mystic resolve, there was nothing. He actually felt she was completely gone from him for the first time! He was on his own. Then, the words he had heard from earlier in the evening came to him.

“You’re never alone!” he recalled. “Perhaps it was not some ogre but from…God? One never knows.” But he did know that there was no outside force that could render his ruling for him; not even Emma. The whole wretched experience had altered his life forever! The new pagans had cashed in all their chips in one human race gamble that Emma’s death would have the same affect on the country as it had on Justice Laurence Saul.

The car pulled into the circle driveway and stopped in front of the house. Peter got out and felt the drizzle in the air and heard the low growl of the gathering dark clouds above in the very early morning sky. He walked to the backdoor and opened for Justice Saul.

“Sir, is there anything else you need from me tonight?”

“Peter, I need you to try to get some sleep. I’ll need to leave for the office at around 10:00 in the morning.”

“Duly noted, Sir.”

Saul turned and walked up to the door which was held open by his housekeeper.

“Sir?” Peter called out. Saul turned slowly to look in Peter’s direction.

“Yes, Peter.”

“If I may, please remember, you are never alone.” Peter shouted

Saul felt his head slightly taken aback by the phrase but showed no surprise to his driver.

“Thank you Peter, that’s a good thought at such a moment as this.” Saul entered his house.

“We are burning the midnight oil tonight?” Saul’s butler asked an obvious question as he took the Justice’s coat.

“Sam, quite undesirably, I might add! There’s always a bigger fish. I my case it’s the people, of which you are one.”

“Quite proud to be so as well, I say.”

Saul turned to mount the stairs.

“Could send up a nightcap? No food, won’t do at all.”

“Sir, I have already sent up the warm Bordeaux. Is that adequate for such a night as this?”

“Well Sam, there’s a question. Adequate? For sure not! But much wiser indeed. Thank you Sam. It will do fine.”

“My pleasure, Sir”

Saul turned and climbed the first three steps.

“Oh yes, I forgot to tell you…”

“Yes, Sam” Saul stated, slowly turning around. “What is it, Sam?” said Saul with exasperation and fatigue in his voice.

“You received this letter by special delivery. I took the liberty of signing for it. I hope that does not meet with your displeasure.”

“Perfectly fine, Sam. That’s what your for and you are also for friendship, so stop being so incredibly kind.” Saul said as he walked and over to his butler. “You can call Larry, like everyone used to, I have told you that.”

“Yes sir, Larry it is, Sir.” Sam affirmed.

Saul amicably snatched the letter from Sam with slight smile and fake aggravation in his movement.

“For goodness sakes, man, now that makes me Sir Larry. I kind of like the sound of that…Sir Larry, hum?”

He turned and climbed the stairs to the top. He looked at the envelope, which possessed nothing in the way of anything striking or special. It was common in every way. He turned it over and held it up to the light, as if he were forbidden from opening it. He had had it drilled into him that he could never take a chance with anything, even as passé as unexpected mail. Yet, it was not the lessons from his handlers that gave him such apprehension. It was this night; a night that was full of confusion, strange voices and deep soul searching.

Saul walked into his bedroom and tossed the envelope onto the bed. He flipped on the TV and started taking of his clothes. A shower would just have to wait till morning. The moment the TV flashed on, Saul saw his face plastered all over the screen. He flipped the channel, Fox, CNN, MSNBC virtually every channel including C-Span were covering the big ruling to take place in less than ten hours.

Saul sat down at the edge of his bed and listened to how the whole affaire was being packaged.

“Chris, there is just no denying it. If the court upholds the IRAT bill, it will take on the greatest reach of the government into the lives of the American people to date. Perhaps there will never be anything ever passed like it in the future.”

“Yes Alex, there has never been anything like it. We’re joined by conservative talk show host, Michael Nance. Michael, I’m sure I don’t need to ask so tell us, at this juncture, what you think about tomorrow’s ruling, only hours away from what I suspect you regard as the abyss.”

“I am in no mood for your nonsense or cynicism! Let’s see it for what it is! We all knew all the warnings in the world would not stop the government takeover of our health care system. Chris, we would bitch, moan and scream about that, but we could almost live with that as much as we hate the idea. But this is not a mere takeover of Americans’ healthcare needs; this is a coupe d’état! This bill has already been overturned by two Federal Courts, a Federal Appeals Court and I am sure it will be turned over by the Supreme Court tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you Michael. Now let’s…”

“Wait…just let me say my bit and I’ll get off your show. If this bill is passed, it will be cradle to the grave control of the masses. It will regulate eligibility for education, it will control a child’s health records from birth and parents will be incarcerated regularly for obesity and numerous other heretofore unimaginable offences. There will be no resuscitation orders placed on those the “Government” deems terminal…which, by the way, will now be determined based on one’s quality of life rather than potential of living a good life even with certain infirmities. The mentally ill and those without the wherewithal to maintain a healthy life will be chosen for termination!”

“You are out of your mind, Mr. Nance! There has never been any provision for such things in this bill.”

Saul was looking around on the bed for the remote to change to another channel when he heard his name in the tube.

“I am not going to try to persuade you, because the hope making you and the loud minority of the country like you to change and see the truth will be when you wake up one morning and realize that you, your family nor anyone you love is ever safe again. I am speaking to Justice Saul, if you are listening Sir, we have faith in you, but there are a lot of forces arrayed against us now in the country and they are all aimed at you. Are you prepared to let the mentally infirmed, the aged, the terminally ill and the unborn never again have a fighting chance. Are you ready to approve, as the bill mandates, that some Human Utility Board be set up that will, in a very real way, have more power than the President himself in that they will decide who will live or die and who is useful or who merits touching the benefits we have all worked for all our lives? Think about it, Sir before it’s too late. Thanks Chris for at least letting say what I think the nation needs to hear. They have been warned!”

“Wow! Michael Nance, ladies and gentlemen. We are joined now by the founder of the Liberal Progress Board, George Sorloff. Mr. Sorloff, the floor is yours I guess in the interest of fairness.”

“Chris, we are hearing the same old gloom and doom and the fear tactic that the American people have grown accustomed to and are sick of...”

Saul reached behind his back and his hand searched for the remote. He did find it, but his hand found the envelope he had received earlier in the day. His finger wrapped around it when the TV screen suddenly changed. Before his eyes, Saul could see the Supreme Court swirling stairwell with him staring up at it. He seemed to be alone, but then something seemed to appear and disappear again. It was there, no it was gone! Then it appeared and stayed! It was him, that man, the one who had the bloody face! Saul rubbed his eyes and changed the channel.

The images across the screen remained the same. Then it changed and to his abhorrence, pictures of aborted fetuses appeared. They were bloody, some in tact, others torn to pieces and in shreds. He wanted to turn his face away but the image was so shocking and searing to his soul that he was forced to sit there and watch the myriad of unborn human lives, America’s with no rights, lay there on metal tables, in trash bags and canisters with the biohazard symbol emblazoned on the side. Then the image changed to the Image of Terrie Schiavo, the brain-damaged woman who in 2005 had been ordered to die without a shred of proof that she even requested to do so. There were pictures of her smiling at her mother and father, protesters for and against her life continuing, pictures of her crying and finally images of her dead, starved and dehydrated body lying on her bed.

Random shots flashed across the screen of the infirm, the elderly and the mentally ill. The last photo that appeared on the screen was that of the most precious person in Justice Laurence Saul’s life. Tears formed in the corners of Saul’s eyes and then began to flow like a river down he tired and bewildered face.

“No! You can’t be so heartless as that! No!”

Saul heard a knock at the door.

“Judge Saul, is everything alright? Judge Saul?”

“Yes, yes ,yes! I am fine” Saul responded looking over at the door.

“Are you sure? Can I help somehow?”

“I am fine Sam, go back to sleep.” He ordered. “Old fool never sleeps!” he murmured to himself.

When Saul turned back around, he saw the talking heads on the MSNBC report back on the screen. He truly wondered if he had lost his mind. Had he fallen asleep? He looked at his watch. It was 2:43 AM. He saw the envelope in his fingers. It made his hands begin to shake slightly. Slowly, he slid his finger under the sealed flap and slid it across the envelope until it was opened. He spread the envelop open and as though it were some chemical agent, two of his fingers took hold of the one sheet of paper inside. He pulled it out rather quickly, evidently finding his nerve again and held out in front of him still folded.

“Ah! What the hell!”

He unfolded it and dropped it to the floor and stared at the words, “You are never alone!” written across it!

“What is happening to me?” he quietly but fearfully asked himself.

He turned the TV and jumped under the covers! The man who held the power of life and death over the whole nation pulled the covers over his head and lay there shaking and bewildered until his heart regained a steady rhythm and weariness was overtaken by slumber and fell asleep only seconds later. Only Supreme Court Justice Laurence Saul could decide what type of world he would wake up in.

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Quality of Life – Superior Judgment Part One

2008-06-22T03:28:48+02:00

We the People of America are in a time of great flux and collision with changes that cause many of us to take pause and gain a perspective of where the road we are on is leading us. We are at a time when the moral center that has guided the nation is in the process of disappearing and the ground is shifting brutally beneath our feet.

The nation is ready to possible elect a man president whom we had heretofore never heard of. We have a congress that allows the people to pay exorbitant fuel prices while we have reserves that could relax the strained nerves forming across all our faces. We have seen states take the institution of marriage and render it silly and ridiculed by the allowance of gay marriage. We are winning the war on terror while a political party and the media continues to malign and detract from the victories and the good we are doing for the people we defeated. The list is long and widening and becoming a catalyst for change that even now is rendering the United States of America into a nation of bleating sheep who are unwittingly being led into the valley of destruction, unless these steps into a dark and uncertain future are halted. Yet, though each of the three branches of the Federal Government are guilty of deceit and lies, it is the Judicial branch that is hurling the land headlong into an abyss of decay and possible ruin that will not possess a way of escape.

The courts have declared abortion constitutional, hailed gay marriage as a step into a new and bright world and told us that the terrorist who attacked us deserve the same rights and privileges as American citizens have. Yet, the most dangerous and devastating decision of the court is the looming decisions on the right to die that will eventually become the right of the government to decide who shall live or be put to death. Read part one of Steven Clark Bradley’s fifth novel, “Quality of Life” that is a work in progress. Feel the darkness of a land that no longer looks through the eyes of a just and righteous God but which has taken the power of life and death will we, as Americans, greet the loss of our freedom with bleating and blind devotion to those who actually wish us woe. Read Part One of Quality of Life – Superior Judgment and take stock of the world we are leaving for our Children.

Quality of Life – Superior Judgment Part One

Chapter One

Supreme Judgment

Washington DC, 2010

Nothing was as lonely or as peculiar as the eerie sound of silence. That was always compounded by a hollow edifice’s echoes emanating from some nightly cleaning crew going about their business when everyone was supposed to have already gone off to do their duty or to do their mischief, for the night. It was almost always so in this now dormant enclave that may not have bustled as much as those that housed the other two branches of government, but nevertheless, this Romanesque structure that stood as a monument of fairness and Jurisprudence had its own assertive commotion. Yet, there had probably never been a day like the one that had just concluded for Supreme Court Justice, Laurence Saul. He had stayed way past his government prescribed supreme bedtime. He had not exactly burned the midnight oil. He had not sat at his large and ornate bureau either with exaggeratedly obese volumes thrown open in search of some precedent that would explain tomorrow’s world-trembling action or which could subdue the overly stretched nerves in the center of his head that had produced an excruciating, throbbing headache. No, such research would have been for his aides and law clerks to do, anyway. In fact, Justice Saul had not opened any books at all. What he needed, what he sought could not be found in books. His research was in his mind and a further eighteen inches from the top of his supreme head down to his parched heart; an organ that had beat without the slightest interest in its innermost unscrupulous nature that he had not quite unwittingly nurtured over so many years.

Like a lesion that had expanded its horizons by virtue of having picked at its scab constantly, the meat of Saul’s heart had hardened, toughened until it had rendered itself into a not so fine consistency reminiscent of cowhide. Yet, tonight, despite his most earnest attempts, he could no logical arguments that could get him beyond mere feelings that were based on emotion more than rational logic. It was in vain, and he knew it. He could not seem to get beyond his most solemn desires to render a ruling based on the inflated volumes of law that graced the shelves which prescribed past actions and decisions for which his current rendering would have no precedent.

His other eight colleges had seemed to have come down quite evenly on one side or the other. Yet, he had allowed himself to be placed in his current plight; a situation that would have given many a Supreme Court Justice glee at having received their own fifteen minutes of fame to express themselves in unforgettable Jurisprudent Babel for which their was no model. Yet, tonight, Laurence Saul was down to the tender meat of his agonizing mind. This deed, this all encompassing verdict demanded a very non-lawyer-like searching of the now leathery organ that beat in his chest. There would be no legal cha-cha’s or any swinging your lawful partner do-see-do on this one, which was how he had always described the process in his mind. Therefore, neither lean nor mean, books would do. Instead, the supreme judge just sat in his office with only a couple of nightlights burning and gazing out into space and contemplating his pronouncement.

“What would it do to my Grandkids? What of my legacy? What would I write in my memoires? How would it affect my family … me?” There was also of course, just barely making the list of unanswerable questions with at least a smattering of consequence, the speculation of what it would do to the country.

“What of the future of the nation?” He just looked intently into nothingness and resolved himself as to his best course of action and in turn, talked himself right out of it time and time again. He heard the large clock on his mantelpiece chime loudly 12 echoing times throughout the office. It gave him a chill and reminded him that even prominence and stature had its burdens. He pressed a button on his phone.

“Yes, Justice Saul.”

“Peter, could you have my driver at the gate in ten minutes?”

“Yes, sir. Working late sir? Big day for you tomorrow?”

“Indeed, a big day it shall be. I just needed some time alone to reflect.”

A voice suddenly resounded from somewhere in the darkened office.

“Oh, you’re not alone. You’re never alone.”

The justice was so startled that he yelped loudly and instinctively released his grip on the receiver and the phone tumbled right out of his hand! Justice Saul stood up abruptly!

“Whose there? Is someone there?” he shouted into the thin air, in a shaking voice. He heard a voice again and realized that it was the guard’s panicked voice shouting into the phone that lay on the floor beside his leather chair.

“Justice Saul? Justice Saul! Is everything ok in there?”

Saul bent down and picked up the receiver.

“Sorry about that Peter, my friend. I am just tired.” Saul said, glancing up at the clock.

“My Goodness, it’s 12:05 and guess I’m a bit jumpy! Think we could get that ride for me and I’ll get my bureaucratic rear end home and in bed.”

“That’s affirmative, sir, in ten.”

“Thank you Peter.” Saul sat the receiver down and shivered. The temperature had not changed, but he felt a frigid coldness chilling his bones.

Justice Lawrence Saul ventured out into the large Great Hall that led directly into the Court chambers. Saul heard his office chambers door click shut, but it sounded like several closing at the same time in the reverberating bleak barrenness of the hour. He walked into the lucid darkness and could still make out the square gold overlay tiles that adorned the hall’s ceiling. It was, by any standard, magnificent to behold. Even in the darkness, at almost half past midnight, the security floodlights reflected off the tiles and gave it an eerie mystique that both refreshed the fear cells and prohibited one from running away by virtue of the awe it inspired. The Justice paused from his departure and looked down the corridor of power and saw the marble pillars that lined the walkway. It was a thing to behold, even for a Supreme Court Justice who had seen it all day after day for the past five and half years. He wasn’t the newest of the revelators of wisdom to sit on the bench, but his tenor was still young in comparison to the term he had sworn to fulfill.

“Lifetime is a long time to do the same thing.” he thought. “But then, we are about to do something completely different.” He affirmed to himself. “Perhaps my term shall not be as long as I had hoped, after tomorrow?” he speculated.

He walked on down the Great Hall and his footsteps resonated so much so that it sounded like another set in step with his followed in pursuit; so much so that he paused and just listened. He paused his stride to see if the echo would cease when his feet stopped moving. There wasn’t a sound except for the air that circulated through the vents that could not be heard during the regular hours when the hustle and bustle of the day drowned out the noises he could hear now. Fatigue had gotten to him and so had the task at hand.

“Nothing a good night sleep could not rectify.” he told himself.

Justice Saul made his way down the hall. As he walked, his trepidation subsided and he realized that though it was his fist time to have ventured down the elaborate walkway in the dark, he could really find his way with his eyes closed, which was virtually what he was doing, just now. He walked out into the massive entrance and over to the twirling stairwell, which was the largest one of two that twirled and twisted as one ascended upward supposedly into some imposed nirvana of justice that even he knew did not exist. Saul gazed upward into the darkened stairwell and made out the design and felt almost entranced by it.

“This was built to depict the nation rising to wisdom and justice.” He declared to himself. “Tomorrow are we taking a plunge downward…reaching some new plateau as so many have declared?” He was still unsure in a manner he had never felt before. He knew that what ever decision he rendered would have consequences. “Temporary bedlam is certainly preferable to a future of madness! That is no future at all.” He whispered to himself as he continued to stare upward.

“Breathtaking, is it not?” a voice resounded behind the Justice!

“What the hell!” Justice Saul shouted, almost screamed with the echo bouncing off the walls and seemingly all the way up the stairwell! He turned around and saw a man peering up the stairwell with him. The man didn’t flinch, didn’t even glance over at Saul. He just stood there calmly and looked up while Saul’s heart rate evened out.

“Who are you? I have a radio you know.” Saul somewhat aggressively informed the man.

“I saw it the first time as a child you know.” The man said. “I was so stricken right there and then that I decided that this was a great country! I mean, only a great people could conceive of something so grand and stunning as these steps up toward a God who had destined that we be here.” The man’s eyes seemed transfixed and glued upward.

“At first I wanted to be a lawyer, ha-ha, until I met a few. The ones I met weren’t going to be on staircase marching in an upward direction any time soon.”

“Sir, I have a big day tomorrow and you need to declare your business or I will be forced to…”

“It was there and then that I decided that what I was born to do was to fight for the country…to ensure we always marched onward and upward.” The man finally broke his gaze and turned his face toward Justice Saul’s and in the thick darkness, simply stared at him. Saul felt wobbly and trepidation began to invade his every nerve while his knees began to buckle from fear. Saul finally found his second nerve and turned to leave.

“I’m sorry, but I have to go. My driver is waiting for me.”

“Sir, let me assist you. I apologize. The place always gets the best of me! It’s just that I’ve seen so many of our best and brightest fall downward so that Americans could freely mount those sacred steps. I hope I did not frighten you.”

“I’d be a liar to say you didn’t, but just get me to my car.”

“Follow me, sir.”

Justice Saul followed the man from a safe distance back. The man had a uniform on but even in the dark, the Justice could see that it wasn’t a uniform he had ever seen a guard wearing in the Court complex. The man seemed benign, yet mildly malicious. Saul could now see the exit with two guards in normal attire standing the waiting to escort the Justice to his waiting car. The man spoke up.

“Justice Saul, I think I heard you say that you had a busy day tomorrow.”

Saul stopped and looked at the man in the increased lighting near the exit doors.

“Just who are you, anyway?”

The man also stopped and turned his face toward Saul. His face was torn and one eye socket was empty and his shirt was filled with blood-stained holes.

“As I was saying, sir, you said you have a busy schedule tomorrow?”

Saul backed up further. “Well … yes … yes I have.”

“Just wait till you see how busy you’re gonna be tonight!”

Saul turned and started screaming out to the guards posted at the doors.

“Guard! Guard! Help me! There’s a crazy man here and he is…”

Saul turned back toward the man and he was gone! The guard rushed over to Justice Saul with his pistol in hand.

“Are you ok, Justice Saul?”

Saul looked around and still saw nothing until he looked down at the marble floor. There, he saw two photographs lying face up. One was of Katherine Pool, founder of the choice for self movement that had spearheaded most of that for which Saul had remained sleepless over, way back in the twenties. The other was of Ralph Fellows, the lawyer who had made the case before Saul and his other eight fellow robed dispensers of wisdom only two weeks earlier. Both pictures had an “X” drawn across the faces in the photos with the words, “Enemies of humanity!” written across the center. Justice Saul bent down and took the photographs into his hand and tucked them into his suit-coat pocket.

“Yes…Yes I am…fine. Just cranky and tired!”

“I understand, sir. Please follow me.” Those words frightened Saul. He had heard them before. Justice Laurence Saul walked up to the exit doorway that was being held open by the security guard. Before he walked out, he looked back into the darkness and wondered what he had just encountered. He knew it was more than his imagination and that this night had already had enough mental contusions. He just wanted to go home and retire up to his room and sleep. Being the swing vote on the bench had made him, at least temporarily, the most power Justice in the Supreme Court; perhaps in Supreme Court history.

“I don’t care!” he blurted out audibly!

“Sir, I am sorry but I’m afraid I didn’t hear you.” The guard inquired.

Saul looked embarrassed and he was sweating heavily and breathing quickly.

“Justice Saul, is everything ok? You seem a bit…”

“Thank you for your concern, Officer. I just want to go home and sleep.”

“Your car is just outside, Sir...”

Steven Clark Bradley lived abroad for over 17 years and has been to 34 countries, including Pakistan, Iraq and Turkey. He has a master's degree in liberal studies from Indiana University. He speaks French and Turkish. He has been an assistant to a Prosecutor, a University Instructor and a freelance Journalist in Ramallah, Palestine, Israel, Turkey, Iraq and Pakistan. Steven is the author of three novels, Nimrod Rising, Probable Cause and Stillborn.

You can read lots more from Steven Clark Bradley at these sites. You might even find some Stories That Read You! at:

All of Steven Clark Bradley's novels are widely available all over the net. Here are a few links to help you read these exciting stories now.

Amazon.com
booksamillion.com
powells.com
bordersstores.com
barnesandnoble.com
copperfields.com

Comments

America - A Tapestry of Loose Ends...

2008-06-15T04:19:09+02:00

In the midst of all the rhetoric against the Bush Administration, there are still plenty of Americans who see a good man and good leader in George W. Bush. He worked hard to keep his promises to the conservative voters who had placed their trust in him during his now seven years in office. He responded to the terrorist threat and proved he is a man of resolve. He took our plight as tax payers into consideration and lowered our tax burden. He stood up for the family and refused to let America devolve into some perverted society that would have merited fire to fall from the heavens. In short, he did a first rate job in a very dangerous time.

Today, with the talking heads vying for the oath, it is easy to see that much is left to be achieved and many things linger from Bush's failures, and there are more than a few. He failed to adequately push for a constitutional amendment prohibiting same-sex marriage. He was and is an abysmal failure in stemming the tide in the deluge of illegal immigration from our southern border. He did not succeed in ridding the nation of our addiction to Middle East oil, though the democrats and Bush's fellow republicans in congress bear the same burden as he regarding all these failures. Nevertheless, President Bush did sow together many cords that, if kept in tact, will keep America on the path of right choices and policy for a long time to come. Yet, there are many strings still hanging out in this tapestry of the fabric of American history that still need tied up.

Of course, the war in Iraq, which is in far better shape since President Bush ordered the surge, is unfortunately, far from over. The surge seems to have marked a great turning point for that nation, much to the chagrin of the liberal elite who would love to derail the war for the sake of an election in November, 2008. If this surge continues to show success, there will be a good chance of seeing another republican in the White House. This can be very feasible if it remains possible to start pulling our troops out of Iraq during the spring and summer of 2008. Images of returning American GI's will give Americans a sense of pride and a feeling that President Bush had been correct in taking a tyrant out of that nation and that his stubborn resolve is what they want to see in the next president as well. So, this election can be pulled off with good voter turnout and by America viewing its children returning home to a hero's welcome.

Yet, let not the return of our troops be considered as the end-all of a struggle that will not need to be revisited. I suspect that there are about two more wars that may need to be waged before this nation can take a breather. That fact adds tremendous weight to the importance of electing a president who possesses a steel-like determination to protect this nation from current and future threats that hover out on the political, social and religious horizons. With this in mind, it is clear that the greatest threat facing America and any new president will be how to deal with a nuclear-armed Iran. Currently, the only Muslim nation that possesses nuclear arms is the nation of Pakistan. If the world can be set on edge by the current developments inside Pakistan, an American ally, then any president will have to view Iran, bent on building itself a nuclear arsenal, as a potentially very serious threat to The United States and our allies. Iran may not pose a threat to the USA in actually launching one of their missiles at us, but that Islamic Republic could attack an ally, such as Israel, that could lead to World War III. There are also great dangers in the possibility of Iran using its surrogates or sleeper cells to smuggle such arms into our nation. Though there is a strong popular movement inside Iran for change toward democracy, it is clear that no such hope truly exists without outside assistance. At the moment, America is looking to the UN for some help in this regard, which is tantamount to killing cancer with an aspirin. I predict that this event will fester to a boiling point and the need for forces to be deployed will again be called for. Nevertheless, we will have to have a lot more help from the Iranian people than we received from the people of Iraq. Therefore, the next president will not be able to beat Bush's weapons into plowshares, as many predict, though it is unclear if any of the candidates truly realize that.

The other international hot spot in the world is North Korea. Though President Bush has signed an ill-conceived agreement with the president of this poorest of nations, Kim Jung Il has already broken the first major provision of the accord by failing to report how many bombs have been built and to what extent he has proliferated his nuclear technology around the world. North Korea has one of the largest standing armies in the world. Though that nation may not have rice enough with which to feed its people, it does have weapons with which to launch, at the very least, a region-wide war. Kim Jung Il has demonstrated his capacity to fear, though. Right after America took Iraq, The North Korean leader sent word to the Bush Administration that he intended to talk. Yet, talk is cheap and though there has been some progress in North Korea's dismantling of its nuclear program, letting this tyrant slide in his failures to meet his commitments will be costly. Bush has taken too much time to play the talk game. If North Korea fails to live up to its word, which has been proven time and time again to be the ultimate, final conclusion, such talk time will have become exhausted.

If the next president fails to act appropriately to the threats of Iran and North Korea, the world could well be shoved into WW III. This is a sobering reality that should take precedence over any other reason that motivates us in our choice of candidate to lead the nation for at least the next four years. These two nations will have to be dealt with and without delay. Part 2 and part 3 of the Axis of Evil will have to be, not only pacified, but rendered incapable of waging war against its neighbors and drawing in major forces like our own. Failure to do so will mean renewed war that will render the war in Iraq as a mere scuffle in comparison. Therefore, the next president will have no lack of problems in the future with this apparently mentally ill communist dictator who will have no loss of an appetite to flex some muscle that he indeed does have.

On the domestic front, one lose end that needs to tied up into an eternal knot is the danger of allowing gay marriage. It seems apparent that President Bush simply used this issue as a reelection point, since he has done virtually nothing about his own proposal for a constitutional amendment since he began his second term. This is the one point that I am sure will not receive the appropriate attention, by virtue of the political capital that will have to be spent to achieve it. Neither of the two of the two party nominees, from either party, will push hard to preserve the sanctity of the institution of marriage. That does not mean it is not important. In fact, if the American society allows this obtuse action to become the national norm, it will transform the waging of battles abroad for the safety of the nation into something of no value to many of us who hold to social morals that say you can do whatever you wish in private so long as it is not sanctioned and protected by those who lead us publically.

Therefore, we must fight hard for the constitutional amendment that President Bush called for during the 2004 election. It is very clear in the antics displayed by those protesting since Bush's first inauguration that this issue will be bigger than ever for the next president, especially a liberal one. The greatest failure for President Bush is that he placed a greater priority on Social Security savings accounts than following through on the moral issues he so bravely championed in his second presidential campaign. He has failed to look sufficiently at his 2004 election polling data to see that the reason that he is again in office today is because Christians placed their faith in him as a believer and moral leader. We need to insist upon not just giving these issues lip service.

The future does not look too bright for conservatives today. That can become a good thing, also. Often long-term power creates lethargy and apathy. Too much power and far too much pride has lulled conservatives to sleep and made them think that they were unshakable and full of strength. Of course that was a pipe dream. If you do not think so, ask Speaker of the House Pelosi what she thinks. The next president will have about two years to make these things happen, if at all. At the moment, no real conservative seems poised to take President Bush's place in the 2008 election. The closest thing to a conservative presidential hopeful in the Republican Party for 2008 is John McCain. He is right of center, at best, and has an eerie tendency to rely on any side from which he may find support. The great danger is that all of the candidates that the republicans and the democrats have fielded could spell the end of the America as we have know her.

Therefore, those of us who care about the social nature of the nation and the future strength of the sane world need to insist that the next president not crowd out the issues that are of supreme importance to us. Failure to correct the moral wrongs in our country shall cause the nation to incur more attacks and shall nullify any attempt to spare the nation from greater disaster. Men and women do right or wrong by virtue of their characters. It does not matter if the next president is black or white. There are good men and women from every walk of life in this country, regardless of their gender, race, religion or creed. Let us decide to only pay tribute with our vote to the man who has kept faith with America. Yet, never let us sit back and pretend that all is calm in Gotham. These next four years will determine whether America will maintain the stamina and courage to fight the good fight and to tie all loose strings together into one large tapestry that cannot be unraveled. Demand it! Expect it! Scream like crazy until you get it! Nothing less is acceptable!

Steven Clark Bradley lived abroad for over 17 years and has been to 34 countries, including Pakistan, Iraq and Turkey. He has a master's degree in liberal studies from Indiana University. He speaks French and Turkish. He has been an assistant to a Prosecutor, a University Instructor and a freelance Journalist in Ramallah, Palestine, Israel, Turkey, Iraq and Pakistan. Steven is the author of three novels, Nimrod Rising, Probable Cause and Stillborn, available through Borders.com, Barnesandnoble.com and Amazon.com and almost anywhere on the net.

You can read lots more from Steven Clark Bradley at these sites. You might even find some Stories That Read You! at:

All of Steven Clark Bradley's novels are widely available all over the net. Here are a few links to help you read these exciting stories now.

Amazon.com
booksamillion.com
powells.com
bordersstores.com
barnesandnoble.com
copperfields.com

Comments

Patriot Acts - Border Insecurity

2008-06-09T16:30:24+02:00

In Patriot Acts, America finds itself under covert nuclear attack from the Islamic Republic of Iran which has linked up with American Militia groups, which have set aside their political and religious differences to carry out the widest and most deadly attack on America in the nation’s history. The only person who can effectively retaliate against their aggression is Fisher Harrison, the best trained Special Ops killer the military has. The only problem is that he is in a federal prison, framed for a murder he did not commit, framed by his former boss, the President of the United States of America. You will take an amazing journey that will take you from Alaska to the Midwest and to the heart of the nation of Iran itself as two enemies unite to save the nation, while two enemies are unified to bring the country down. You will be amazed how possible this story is and may be shocked by how close to home and to reality that it could be! The main question is whether America is willing to do what may be necessary in order to preserve, protect and defend the constitution of the United States of America. You will read about actions that are not acts of terror, not acts of vengeance but in reality, Patriot Acts, many of the same decisions the next President shall surely be compelled to take.

Patriot Acts by Steven Clark Bradley - Border Insecurity

April 14, 2009 7:20 PM

~~~

April 14, 2009 7:35 PM

“So where the hell is he?” President Tate demanded to know.

“He is the chief of staff and has a few things to do around here!”

The door to the Oval Office opened and Jamie O’Rourke walked in.

“Where have you been all day?”

“Mr. President, don’t you remember the Lincoln Day dinner you couldn’t bear to attend and sent me to?”

“Up in, where was it, Nome, Alaska?”

“Yes sir. Weather was pretty good and love those blubber burgers!”

“We’ve got a problem Jamie.”

“Am I supposed to be shocked? All we ever do is deal with problems.”

“Why did I ever want this job?” Tate whined shaking his head.

“One, I don’t think you mean that and two, if I thought you did I’d resign right now and three, you like the retirement benefits?”

“Yea, they’re good, but I’ll probably get assassinated before I benefit from any of those perks.”

Jamie didn’t even look up when those words were uttered.

“Anyway, Jamie, back to our problem. I just got word that Harrison escaped!”

“More like stolen, I heard.” Jamie added.

“You know about this already?”

“Jamie, sometimes I wonder about your allegiance to me?”

~~~

“Atash, do you know what to say?”

“Of course, ‘Pesos, Pesos’!”

“This is not a joke! The resemblance we have to Mexicans may be passable but there’s that thing called Spanish.”

“Jalil, you worry too much! En Shallah, everything will go well, and anyway we will probably have to say nothing with this in my hand.”

The Muslim driver of a van carrying office supplies across the border waved a large stack of $100.00 bills. Their cargo demanded that they spread the wealth before they spread some death.

“Allah is great!”

~~~

“What?” President Tate shouted in utter horror!

“Yes sir, we have very valid and verifiable reports that somewhere along our border with Mexico a large number of tactical nukes are being transported into the United States.”

“When did these reports come in?”

“When I walked into my office, a field agent was faxing these reports to me and they were coming over the machine as entered my office.”

Jamie bent down and picked up his file off of a stack of documents he had brought into Tate’s office for signing. When he bent down he grunted loudly and rubbed his chest.

“What’s wrong with you? Don’t you die on me. All heart attacks, strokes or any kind of illness are temporarily forbidden!”

“I’m fine, just strained my back, I guess. Mr. President, we need to seal the border!”

“Not so, Mr. President. We can activate several militia groups and use them to do what they do best.”

“What would that be, killing illegals and then we’ll have the Alamo all over again!”

“Do you have Intel on where the nukes could be coming in?”

“Yes sir! Somewhere along a two-thousand mile line!”

~~~

“Stop it Atash!”

“Stop what?”

“Sweating! You look too terrified! What if the Sheik had ordered you to lay it down? Allah will prevail and make a way!”

“Yea, you mean, what is it they call them…Dead Presidents?”

“I have them in hand! We will use US dollars, US mercenaries and US laws to give them Jihad terror!” Jalil declared.

Even Atash livened up as they pulled up to the gate.

~~~

“Len! Len wake up you sorry ass!”

“What? Where are we?”

“Where are we? We are at Armageddon’s door my brother. The posse has arrived!”

Len Garret rubbed his eyes and turned a bottle of Scotch up to his lips.

“This stuff’s about the only thing that wakes me up anymore. Pull around back Frank.”

“In back? Don’t that look out of the ordinary?”

“Well, we ain’t far from it, so just do what I told ya, ok?”

“Yavool, Mein Fuehrer!”

Garret’s cohort drove to the back of the large wooden structure and both Garret and his driver saw the large van marked ‘Nogales office furniture’. They parked and walked inside.

“Mr. Lee, what we have is a cavalcade of diversity! Three nationalities, all hating the same place, all seeking the same thing!” Len shouted!

“Mr. Garret! How are you? Got your fax! Is there something I can interest you in today, sir?”

“Ah, yes, I need a load of briefcases and I’m on a tight schedule. I have a feeling my business is going to explode soon!”

~~~

Here are a few other sites where you can read more of Steven Clark Bradley's material:

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Stillborn! Baby's Gone!

2008-06-01T20:55:40+02:00

It is easy to judge those of our fellow men and women who live on the street as dirty, evil or simply as losers while they peddle their unspeakable wares, in the dead of night. The Earth is replete with examples of young girls who today live in circumstances that seem unthinkable to us and unimaginable. Many of these women set out on a journey to places like Hollywood to “Make it big” to “Become a star!” only to find themselves to be the victims of broken promises, veins full of narcotics and in bed with someone they have never met before and never will again. The stories are many and the reasons are just as numerous even as their original motivations seemed to have merited their journey into the ultimately lonely and often fatal situations which led many into drug addiction, prostitution, prison and even suicide.

In “Stillborn! – Baby’s Lost” Susan Chacon’s reasons also were real and profound. She set out to escape some personal dangers that would eventually only lead her into a final and disastrous ones.

Read this excerpt from Steven Clark Bradley’s novel, Stillborn, and you’ll see how a life without hope, support or mercy can lead a hopeless woman to make some terrible choices. So many women today are trapped in circumstances exactly like Susan Chacon. Perhaps, after you read this passage, the next time you see such people in their self-imposed prisons, you’ll feel more sorrow than judgment. Perhaps it will make you appreciate anew, just how important a loving family can be.

Stillborn! - Baby’s Lost

“Doctor, I’ve got a lot of blood here. I think we’re losing her!”

Susan Chacon, simply put, was bleeding to death. It was no big deal for her. Her whole life had been hemorrhaging since she was thirteen anyway. It was the perfect ending to a very imperfect life. She was completely unconscious to the outside world, but in her mind, which was traveling deeper and deeper into the tunnel of malaise and death, she was seeing her life play back in vivid detail. It was all taking her back to the day that led to the very present one in which she had given away two new lives to the heartless world while her own was being not too slowly snatched away from her. Susan could see her sweet daddy, then her mother hugging her brother, her brother staring down at her. She heard weeping and pitiful cries, heard her brother’s hideous diabolical laugh and then felt an image begin to play right before her dimming eyes.

~~~

“Doctor, we need an I.V. started here, potassium is bottoming out! I’m losing her pulse!”

~~~

Susan Chacon was so confoundedly indifferent. She was a unique one; a lusciously beautiful girl, that is. Susan had a thing about her. She could take a heart, admire it for a time with passion and then cast it aside as unlikely to be of use to her in the future until right now as she was throwing away her own life so cruelly.

She lay stretched out on the emergency room bed, just a shell with a slightly beating heart. She had lost her will to fight. The blood she had lost in the delivery of her second child, where she had been left for dead, had also left her depressed and empty; with the feeling that there was nothing left to fight for. Yet, as she drew closer and closer to the end of the tunnel she could see the images flashing past her mind’s eyes! It all played like a sad ‘somebody done somebody wrong’ song that just would not end.

Throughout her life until thirteen years of age, she had been with lots of friends and had remained untouched and alive in the outside world. In her world, many of her girl friends had already ridden themselves of the lock to their garden, but not Susan. She had been around those who partied and caroused in a very Mexican secular, Catholic sort of way and had remained chaste at every level. For Susan Chacon, it was not outside with her friends that threatened to rob her of her innocence but rather at home where her future risked being ripped from her.

She had been at a time in her life when she had totally disconnected with her supposedly devout brother. It was her brother who had almost forced her to live away from the house as much as she could when her father was not there. She hated how her brother had started to look at her! It made her skin crawl and made her fear for her safety. He had abnormal eyes, which stared constantly at her in a manner that told her he had an unnatural taste for forbidden fruit.

This young 17-year-old almost-man, who should have been a male figure in her life in whom she could confide and whom she could trust, had instead become a source of fear and confusion for Susan at the tender age of thirteen. True enough, she was not your average thirteen-year-old flat-chested little girl. She looked at least five years into puberty, but those budding flowers were hers and hers alone! His aggression toward her, his intrusions into her room, the times she had found him staring at her as she was awakened in fear had told her that she was safer on the streets; a habit she would never quite abandon.

Susan had told her mother about her brother’s behavior, but mama just explained it away as though big brother was just being over protective and instead accused Susan of having impure thoughts. She had even begun to question herself. In her heart, she knew though, that she was right and had never given her brother any reason to act in such a vile way! It had pushed her away from both of them, but she had her daddy!

Susan knew she dare not say a word to her father about her brother’s actions or apparent intentions. She knew her daddy would beat him, perhaps even kill him for having contemplated the awful-awful with his little sister. It was only the protective hand of her father that had allowed her to live in the same house with her brother and his adoring mother. Even Susan knew how much she had developed the capacity for alienation towards the ones she lived with and just accepted herself as having to live constantly in a survival mode. The nights were peaceful though for Susan. Her father was there and he loved her! He had always had a special affinity with her and he had made her strive to be a good girl, a good student and a good catholic. He was proud of her and she drew all her courage from his existence!

Then her world fell apart! “Papa!”

~~~

In the emergency room where Susan Chacon laid lifeless and still a nurse began to yell.

“She’s flat lining! I’ve got no pulse here!”

~~~

In the inner recesses of her mind, Susan was watching, repeated before her dimming eyes, the worst day of her life! Susan Chacon could see it all over again in her dying brain as she had seen it more

than 15 years before! She had never gotten over having found her father that way.

~~~

“I need some adrenaline over here STAT!” the doctor ordered back in the emergency room.

~~~

Back in her head, Susan could see her mother come in the bedroom where her daddy lay dead on the bed and heard her bitter mother begin to scream in a manner that resembled some Middle Eastern dirge, though she had treated him with disgust on a daily basis and just the night before. It all played back so realistically to Susan. She recalled thinking, as she had on that bitter morning, how her brother had not even come into the room! Her daddy had been so good lately, but there again as so many years before, Susan; her daddy’s baby girl was left lonely and bitter, staring unbelievably down at her blessed father lying dead in his bed.

~~~

As the emergency room doctors and nurses labored over Susan’s body, monitoring, injecting medications, checking vitals, the doctor took the large syringe full of adrenaline and tapped it and then pointed it downward toward here bare chest.

“Try the paddles first!”

The Medical Assistant held the paddles while the instrument charged.

“Clear!”

The force of the electricity made Susan’s body leap into the air and caused the image she was seeing become momentarily hazy and broken.

~~~

As Susan’s life faded away in her own dying world she rejoined her recollections of the past. Her father had suffered a massive heart attack in his sleep. She remembered being unable to scream outwardly, and how she felt internally as she cried out so loudly in her head that it deafened all her senses and rendered her numb. She could not cry. She could not breathe! She turned and fled from the room that had just rendered her uniquely and utterly hopeless.

~~~

“We got nothing here, Doctor!”

The doctor looked down at Susan’s lifeless body as the heart monitor produced a flat green line across its screen and a low constant hum. He wondered if it was worth putting her through the adrenaline.

~~~

Susan had only had her daddy for the first 13 years of her life. The doctors had tried unsuccessfully to revive him, but it was useless. Susan could see the doctor arrive at her house and saw him turn over her daddy’s body. She saw a large bruised area on his back in the heart area where the blood had pooled. It was not fair! God had turned His sight from her. There was an evil spirit on her or she had not said the proper amount of ‘Hail Marie’s to protect her family from the curse of the evil eye? All she knew was that she had not kissed her daddy enough the night before. Had she hugged him? She was sure she had, but wanted to again, and now he was gone and she was alone. She ran right out of the house and saw her brother standing at the door. She knew he did not care! She knew he had not physically killed her daddy but she inwardly blamed him for it all! She stared at him with hatred for a few seconds and then ran away, running, which was something she would be characterized by for the rest of her life. Her race into binging on a little fooling around and forgetting that there was a real world that would only leave her exactly bitter, defiant, alone and overpowered and perhaps now, dead!

Susan was different than so many others. She was a mixture that took the eyes of men’s attention, even at her young and tender age; some out of appreciation of her beauty and others of more impure intentions, including those of her own brother. The envy of women out of the pure undefiled heart that beat in Susan’s developing chest made the women around her covetous, including her mother. She wore the eyes like that of a Latin Princess. She had come from the purest stock of the Mexican heritage, Mayan blood with a dark mystic tint of the beautiful women of Central America. Most women with a heavenly designed face like Susan’s would justifiably spend hours admiring themselves in a mirror, but not Susan. She now hated the beauty that was budding all over her. That which would normally make a blossoming woman rejoice was, for Susan, a reason to fear for her safety in her own home.

~~~

“Doctor, what do you want to do?” The doctor bent down and aimed the long needle at the area around Susan’s heart.

~~~

Susan started to hear the voices of the nurse and the doctor and the hum of the heart monitor, but she would not let herself be relieved of her sorrow and remorse long enough to rejoin the land of the living. She blamed herself for the evil that had befallen her family. She knew when men lusted after her. She always responded with a prayer her daddy had taught her, now prayer seemed totally worthless!

She blamed herself for it all! This was not the life she had expected. Her daddy was supposed to see his grandchildren one day! Now, she had given away both of his grandchildren! He would hate her and oh how she loved him! She wished he were there now to give her a reason to let her heart beat again! He needed to be there to give herself away to her husband one day! How would she know if she found the right man or not? She knew that if her daddy gave her away one day to any man that he would definitely be the right man. Now, how would she know? She decided that she did not need a man! She had also decided to kill her brother if he so much as looked at her with the lustful eyes she had learned to recognize! Now, the only man in her life was her 17-year-old brother who wished to revile her and steal her innocence away. She knew what would be her fate and she knew what she planned to be his final outcome! Her life could be worth something if she would give it to a worthy cause. His fate was a reason to be! Yet, right now, with her babies gone, her life a disaster, she was glad her daddy could not see her and feel the shame she felt!

Three months and five days into the loss of her daddy Susan saw fate take its next stride and saw her life go tumbling down with a knife in her right hand slamming downward again and again! She saw herself drop the knife that was stained with blood not so different from her own and fleeing, running, crying, living in fear and finally swimming across some river into a land of supposed safety. Then she heard a voice speaking to her. She knew that voice.

~~~

“Doctor, stop, we have a slight pulse!”

An officer had come over to the bed where Susan was hanging between life and death. Susan could hear him speaking to the nurse.

“I’m Officer Wallace Findings. I was at the scene where she was found. Is she dying?”

“Do you know her?” the doctor asked.

“Well, not well…yes, I know her.”

“She is closer to death than to life but she is trying to come back. We just got a slight pulse. I don’t want to do the adrenaline if I do not need to because she has lost so much blood it could cause her heart to explode, so try to talk her back, Officer.”

The sound of Officer Findings’ voice got Susan’s fleeting mind’s attention. It felt soft and warm and like he really cared, an emotion she had experienced little. She knew he was good and that he too had suffered a loss that he had not even known of yet.

“Susan, this is a friend. You know, I just got you back. I’ve been looking for you for months and now that I have you here I’d like to have you back…take care of you.”

~~~

Susan felt suddenly at peace. Findings’ voice gave her a strange feeling of safety. She wanted to see him and again she saw herself swimming; taking long and hard strokes to get to the other side. In her mind, she could see a figure waving to her and calling out to her.

“Susan! Susan, come on back! Don’t give up! I am here for you…!”

As she got closer to the other side she began to make out the image as the face of the father of her babies, the last man she had deceived, a man who deserved to know everything! In the world, circled around her body in the emergency room the doctor, the nurses and one sad and lonely police officer looked down at Susan as she fought her way back to life. The heart monitor recorded increased heart rhythm with periodic breaks in the rhythm.

“She’s fighting Officer. Keep on talking to her, she can hear you, don’t stop now!”

~~~

In the wealthy neighborhood of Palisades Park, Illinois a young couple pulled their car up to the door of their emotionally empty house. What they were bringing home today would fill the big house in a way it had never been since they had wed. A woman is helped out of the passenger seat with an infant in her arms. Little Jeffery was her baby; their child and he would never know the wiser! They would see to that!

~~~

Every time Susan’s heart would skip a beat she could feel someone pulling on her legs to draw her back to the land of the dying and she would kick it away. She could see herself looking back at one of the distress points in her journey back to life. When she turned her head she saw her brother, grimacing and tugging at her, screaming that he would avenge his death and pay her back for her actions against him! Behind him was a trail of men who had abused her and next to her brother was that evil doctor, the man who had left her for dead in that filthy place and the one who had lied to her and who had stolen away her babies! At the other side of her brother was Richie, her pimp. He was not smiling, not crying, not doing anything; sort of just along for the ride as he had always been! The scene made her swim faster and harder with deeper and longer strokes!

~~~

“Susan! That’s it!” Officer Findings pleaded with her as he watched the heart monitor. He could see her heart picking up its pace!

“Her heart is good, just had too much stress on it from the loss of blood and God only knows what she was seeing in her state!” the doctor wondered.

“Saw what? What do you mean?”

“She seemed to be reliving something because there were tears in her eyes and she just gave up at some point and the heart stopped!”

Findings thought about that for a second and began to cheer her forward again.

~~~

“Mr. Policeman! Help me! Please help me!” She could see Findings at the shore with his arms outstretched ready to take her to safety. Then she saw another man behind him and her heart began to race again and the rhythm started to become erratic again.

~~~

Findings saw the monitor recording the irregular heart activity. He turned and saw one of his fellow officers there.

“Doc, what are you doing here? You ain’t getting this one!”

“I am a doctor you know. I wanted to tell you that the second baby has died. Oh, I heard she was dying, sorry. Guess I heard wrong. She gonna make it?” the officer asked.

“You better believe it! But she saw you somehow, because the moment you walked up, her heart went crazy again! You mind…?”

“Are you out of your mind, Wall?”

~~~

The Forensic specialist and Findings’ best friend left the area around Susan’s bed. Susan looked forward again and saw that the other officer was gone and started to again swim toward Wallace Findings.

~~~

“That’s it! Come on! You’re gonna make it!” Finally, she reached the shore in her tunnel vision and took hold of Wallace Findings’ open hand. Suddenly a light began to shine so brightly that she was forced to open her eyes! She saw several hazy figures looking over her. After blinking several times and regaining her reality she could see the doctor and the emergency room staff and there was Findings; the one she had returned for. She was sure she would have never come back had he not showed up. She moved her eyes around and in the distance saw Doc, Findings’ friend. Her brow began to perspire and she began to shake in fear.

Findings followed her eyes and realized that she was looking at his friend Doc.

“Hey Doc, you gotta get outta here! She doesn’t like you very much for some reason.”

Doc looked perplexed and shrugged his shoulders and turned around and left the room. Susan calmed down opened her eyes and looked directly into Findings’ face.

“Oh, Officer I came back for you! I am sorry! Please forgive me!”

“Forgive you for what? Now you rest ok? We can talk about everything later. Right now you listen to these good people! You made them earn their money today!”

“Please do not leave me! Please…”

“I promise Susan, I am right here, just let them get you stabilized and I am right at your side!” The doctors were busy putting medications through her I.V., but Susan knew that her life was far from safe. She had come back to finally do one good thing before she died. She had no idea how vicious it would all become in the land of Babylon!

~~~

A car pulled up behind an orphanage called the Queen of Peace. The driver stopped the car and the administrative sister rushed out. The man in the passenger seat opened the back door and pulled out

an incubation chamber. He reached it out to the catholic sister. She stared at him and felt that strange feeling of guilt she had already so wonderfully learned to ignore.

“We will burn in hell for this!” she declared to the man before taking the chamber that held a newly-born little boy. The man looked at her unbelievably.

“Got bad feet does he? When he’s old enough we will put him to good use. The man gave the infant chamber to the nun and spoke angrily to her.

“You are right, you know!” he smiled at her. “You really will burn in hell!”

The woman snatched the baby away and turned in anger and walked quickly towards the door. The man screamed back at her.

“He’ll find a name! Everyone deserves a name you witch! I hope

he grows up and kills you and your evil partners!”

The nun turned around at the door and stared back at the man then entered the orphanage. The man got in the car and it sped away. The nun took the infant to a crib in a room with a huge cross on the wall. It cast a shadow like a dagger being thrust into the child’s heart, this child with no name, no future and so much like a child who was lost, alone, stillborn!

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