Seven Veils of Wisdom – Bloc One – by P J Searle
Chapter Eight

Inside the antique oak-panelled UN conference room, Group 1. had assembled. One member of each delegation: Australasia, Eurasia, America, Russia, Japan, and many others sat informally. The Russian delegate, Ivan Dupchek, was standing and addressing the group.

‘–And, since our pact of joint co-operation with China, I speak for them also when I say we have tested every theory, however ludicrous, to destruction. We found nothing! What does the rest of Eurasia think? – The Irish.’

A middle-aged, plump and pleasant Irish woman, Moira Foil, stood and smiled back at Dupchek, bowed then addressed the group. ‘Yes, same here, not a single solitary, savoury sausage. So we go for the banker, the Arabs – personally, I don’t believe it for a minute, but in the absence of anything else… – The Americans.’

Moyra sat down and the American delegate, Karl Surman, stood. ‘Yep, the Arab… our worst scenario: they’ve somehow united and they want to kick ass… ours mainly. That’s our best.’ He laughed, ’But don’t quote me. – How ‘bout the Kiwis.’

Surman sat. Mitzi stood and jabbed her words back at him. ‘Australasian to you, noodle-neck! Yes, much as I like to bullock the French, I must agree the Arab does seem logical,ish. – The French.’ She turned to the French delegate, winked and sat down.

Louis Pippin stood and bowed graciously towards Mitzi. ‘So eloquent.’ He raised his eyes to all. ‘I have… how do you say… reservations. Oh yes, I agree, let’s start with the obvious, the Arabs, for now, that is. But I want some assurances. If we, and of course the British – assuming they come up with the same conclusion as us – we will not be party to any gung-ho retaliation. The Americans again.’

Surman started to stand again, but before he could speak Mitzi was up on her feet hurling her words at Pippin as he sat.

‘You’ve got some piss-boiling nerve, Louis. How the hell can you stand there and shout the odds when your nuclear carrier is in our waters? You shot a missile half-arsed into God-knows-where – you could have wiped out Sydney.’

Pippin laughed and answered without standing. ‘Your country agreed to our presence. No man is an island.’

‘Don’t quote Donne to me, you French faggot, you don’t have the moral right.’

‘Whoopee! Mademoiselle, too much red wine last night, I fancy.’

Mitzi turned to face Pippin and kissed her hand as if to blow a kiss, but instead ran the hand across her butt, then blew it to him.

Pippin laughed, ‘So utterly, utterly charming.’ They all laughed as Mitzi sat down again.

Amid the laughter, Japanese delegate, Mo Sakamoto, stood and bowed to the American delegate. ‘May I?’

Surman, with relief, nodded and sat down. Sakamoto continued. ‘Yes, all very interesting, most enlightening... Yes, let’s pick on poor third-world, Joe Arab, just because they’re not represented… why not?’

’Yeah, ‘why not?’ Mitzi interrupted from her seat, ‘If they had nothing to hide they’d be here, right?’

‘Yes, why not?’ repeated Sakamoto arrogantly, ’Trans-World Communication CIC PLC, and Chip Invasive Implant Communications, that’s ‘why not’! The Arab Union is one of the biggest shareholders.’

Mitzi made horn fingers with her right hand, and vacuous excreta at the elbow with her left hand, translating as bullshit! Then she added a growled, ‘BULL,SHIT!’ for anyone not familiar with, sign. Sakamoto smiled indulgently.

‘Not bullshit, nor is it, as it has been suggested Madam, territorial sabotage. This is conglomerate sabotage, cyber warfare. This Marjoram business is the first hitch in an otherwise flawless system–’

‘Flawless!’ hurled Mitzi, ‘A communication system hot-wired into the brain! I don’t see how you can make that assumption.’

‘It is not an assumption. It is flawless!’ Sakamoto folded his arms across his chest, defying argument.

‘Yeah… so far!’ said Mitzi, ‘But it is only first generation – as I understand this implant, after some time in situ, becomes permanent.’

‘That is correct. After a year, if the recipient demands, it becomes a permanent accessory of the body. Totally and biologically organic.’

‘And the next generation, as I also understand, is direct thought transmission, and I further understand you intend implanting it in babies… in the womb!’

‘That is not entirely true. Thought transmission is many years away.’

‘Yeah, well that’s not what I heard. We’ll be teaching our kids to speak before they’re born.’

Sakamoto unfolded his arms. ‘What is being considered, Madam is to implant a benign, placebo prosthesis into the fetus, just to procure a cavity and propagate, via neurogenesis, a natural nerve linkage, nothing more.’

‘Natural?’ yelled Mitzi, ’Taking stem-cells from the undeveloped foetus and injecting them into the brain – ‘placebo’ bollocks! What dictionary are you reading from for Christ’s sake? And don’t call me ‘Madam’, I ain’t running no goddam leaping-house.’

‘If I may finish,’ said Sakamoto, now smiling. ‘In the foreseeable future–’

‘Ha!’ Mitzi interrupted again, ‘We do have a foreseeable future, then?’

‘In the foreseeable future, if and when the parent or patient wishes and agrees, the benign chip will be simply injected into the procured void. This is not new. We’ve been placing dormant vaccines in babies since 2016. The nerve alliance is merely an expedient, universally approved, I might add.’

‘Not by me, it isn’t. It’s monstrous, immoral and inhuman!’

’It is not ‘inhuman’, the contrary, and if you stop interrupting you will see why. Tissue Alignment is a step forward in our evolution… but more to the point–’

’What’s ‘more to the point’,’ yelled Mitzi, ’is its ‘foreseeable future’, when one of these, shall we say, cyber i-kids begets offspring. What is that predict, you must have a hunch at least?’

’We don’t do ‘hunches’, or make assumptions. Everything is calculated to the enth degree. There have been untold amounts of papers written. Perhaps you should catch up on your reading.’

’Yeah, the ‘untold amount’, that’s what I’d like to read, smart-arse. I’ve read everything there is to read. It is the ‘untold’ that interests me, a hidden agenda maybe? Big Brother isn’t watching, he’s inside our heads bloodywell listening!’

‘That is not only absolute rubbish it is also libellous! And I must warn you… if you repeat such accusations outside these walls…’

‘You can’t gag me; I haven’t got one of your goddam chips in my head.’

‘…the company will sue!’ said Sakamoto, finishing the threat.

‘Listen to yourself!’ Mitzi was now laughing, ‘We’re here to save the planet and all you’re interested in is making a buck and saving arse!’

‘How dare you. HOW DARE YOU!’ He looked dramatically around the room, stopping poignantly from one to another. ‘This is a red-herring… you all know that. Most of you are investors, private or otherwise. You all know the value of our product. It’s what has pulled the Western World out of the hands of the second financial Dark Age… and it’s in jeopardy! – The Americans.’

Mitzi, not letting it go, stood and spat her words back at Sakamoto. ’Oh sure, the Americans again, they’ll back you, you with your little fingers and them with their big fat greedy imperialistic wallets. Well, let me drop another ‘spanner in the ointment’… the Bilderberg Group! I have a list–’

‘Dear God!’ interrupted Sakamoto from his seat, ‘Not that old chestnut, Madam. I think you’ve been watching too much daytime television.’

’You are on that list, Mister. You’re a ‘Bilderberg demigod.’

‘Yes, I belong to the Bilderberg Group, so what? Half of the people in this room are, or at some time have been. So what?’

‘New World Order’, that’s ‘so what.’

‘What utter rubbish.’

‘You think that? Okay, just for the sake of the other half of the people, let’s acquaint ourselves with these guys. The Bilderberg Group took the name from the hotel where they first met, in the Netherlands in 1954. Every year since then the secretive Bilderberg Group, comprising of elite powerbrokers ––pawnbrokers and bookmakers––from Europe and America, have met to discuss, and influence the changing global, political, economic and social landscape.’

‘And what is so wrong with that, Madam?’ Sakamoto looked around the room for support, to nods of approval.

Mitzi gave a wry smile and continued unabashed. ’I checked them out on the web… it’s there for all to see. In the early 1990s, a relatively unknown Home Affairs spokesman for the British Labour Party was invited to one of the so-called Bilderberg confabs. By 1997 he was Prime Minister of, the then, Great Britain. Similarly, in the late 80’s a little known Governor of Arkansas gladly accepted an invitation to a Bilderberg soiree. A few years later he was President of the so-called ‘free world’. As the Iron Mistress, Prime Minister of Great Britain from 1979 to 1990, said–’ Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

‘I think…’ interrupted Sakamoto again, ‘…if you consult the web or your history i-lobe you’ll find it was, in fact, the Iron Lady.’

‘I don’t have one of your goddam gizmo implants – Iron Mistress! She had expressed her support for non-Bilderberg members; she saw the danger. So someone took the decision to oust her and replace her… I wonder who that someone was?’

‘Rubbish!’ said Sakamoto.

’Not ‘rubbish’. As was later confessed by that same Lady in conversation with the former editor of the HighLight newspaper. This publication was later forced to close down by the Anti-Defamation League because it was deemed, supposedly, ‘anti-Semitic’ – again gleaned from the web. I’ll let you draw your own conclusion to that. That editor spent his life exposing and tracking Bilderberg meetings. And answer me this, Mister Demigod. Senior officials of the World Trade Organization, Federal Reserve, and Financial Institutions like Rolffolk, EU and UN World Government models, and USA corporate oil conglomerates, could they all belong to the same group as the leading politicians and news moguls? Well, yes, they, do! They all belong to the Bilderberg Group! It’s all there in black-and-white and four-dimension for those with the i-lobe chip-implant. That’s if anyone’s interested.’

‘That means nothing,’ said Sakamoto.

Mitzi gave a cynical smile. ‘Oh yeah? And who belongs to those other quasi-secret planet-steering organisations, smart-arse? Such as, the Council on Foreign Relations, and the Trilateral Commission? The same goddam people, the Globalist New World Order! I will leave a summary list of Bilderberg members––which is by no means an exhaustive list. There are over 50 members who refuse to be named. These representatives attended the June 2013 thru 2016 meetings in Belgium, London, and in New York.’

‘Yes!’ yelled Sakamoto, for the first time losing his patience. ’And what then did these, so called, secret demigods do? They released press statements outlining all their operations and policies. Or did you think, when the show was over, these elite ‘pawnbrokers’ and ‘bookmakers’ sneaked home for a nice clandestine cup of tea? I’m being sarcastic, by the way, Madam.’

‘Really? I wouldn’t know; I never drink tea. I’ll leave the list for those who are interested to see their name, or their neighbour’s names, in print.’

‘So, what are you saying, Madam?’

‘I tell you what I’m saying… I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m just saying it, that’s all – it needs to be said. Thank God we still have free speech.’

’Yes, let’s play the God card; ‘religion being the opiate of the masses’ – Karl Marx.’

’Yes, Marx, near enough. ‘We fight the baddy baddies, for colour, race and cree. For Negro, Jew and Bernie, Deaf Ted, Danoota, and me’ – Lenin… or was it Lennon? It needed to be said.’

The French delegate stood and attempted to bring some order. ’And it also ‘needs to be said’, Mademoiselle, to quote Shakespeare, since we are quoting, “methinks you run before your horse to market”, and if we don’t stop arguing and sort this there won’t be a market.’

‘If we are going to quote, Blancmange-for-brains, let’s try to get it right. To quote Lawrence, “blow it out your tailpipe!” ’

Pappin laughed, ‘I love blancmange, and don’t think either D H, or T E Lawrence said that, Mademoiselle.’

‘No, but Lawrence Thompson did, he’s my ex-husband.’ They all laughed. Mitzi did not. She sat down and drank another glass of water.

Mitzi’s life up until her marriage had been nothing but work. She had been a brilliant student and was a good Catholic, though not wholly religious. Forensic science and criminal law had been her passions, but the morally corrupt plea-bargaining system in the law-courts had left a sour taste. The overwhelming desire to make a difference, to do good, had driven her to cross sides and join the police force, ‘the sharp end’ as she put it. Even there, corruption and brutality had marred her dream. If she hoped to compete with those dirt-dealing thugs, it would be at the top, international politics – She would save religious orders for her forlorn hope.

Then disaster; she met Lawrence Thompson. He was a crook, in spite of which Mitzi had fallen hopelessly in love with him. She married him and spent two precious years trying to reform him, which had worked only to a certain extent. Lawrence was weak, and it had taken those two years for Mitzi to realise that. As they’d had no children their parting and then divorce had been amicable.

In those days giants roamed the streets. With the advent of fusion-electric-power dinosaur automobiles, remnants of the golden age of motoring, were now grand-cru. Discarded Buicks, straight-eight cylinder Packards, titanic fish-fin Cadillacs, V-12 Studebakers, and any of the gas-guzzling monstrosities were now coveted and back on the road. These monolithic antiques, with ElectraDrive systems built into each wheel, were lovingly resurrected. Each redundant antiquated brake-drum cavity easily accommodated ED road-guidance units. This gave modern SatTrack, four-wheel drive, independent suspension, and power steering to these hybrid monsters. They now had the best of both worlds. The occasional roar of petrol-engine merely to impress, and with SteelLace tyres these titan automobiles offered unlimited range of pollution-free, and virtual cost-free motoring.

They became so sort-after that regular car manufacturers started a retro limited edition of the most popular models. Some using the original press dies for body parts. Some even offered AcoustiDrive to match the original engine sounds. But the original cars were, in a word, priceless! For a while Lawrence Thompson had made a good honest living out of buying, converting, and re-selling these cars. But as the stocks of original vintage vehicles became harder to acquire legitimately, he fell back to his old ways. The vintage-car conversion trade was the best thing to the average crook, the likes of Lawrence Thompson, since regular car jacking. Once located, stealing the cars and converting them was relatively easy, since they were pre satellite tracking.

In locating them, Lawrence had implicated Mitzi. He’d used her police clearance code to enter the National Automobile Database. When she discovered this, she had no choice. She made the best deal for him that she could, within the legality of the infamous plea-bargaining market, and turned him in. There was little animosity; Lawrence was not a thug. With the last vestige of decency in his corrupt psyche, he understood. But it was the final act, she lost her love, and within the new mutual-consent law their marriage ended. Disillusioned, it also ended Mitzi’s flirtation with the police force.

For the past few years since, Mitzi had a series of short-lived affairs and numerous virtual one-night stands. She had no illusions; she was a sexual person and to hell with convention and modesty. She knew what she wanted and took it where she found it. She’d even had a brief affair with Lucas Manning, one of his lifetimes ago. But it was never serious, not for either of them; he had proved an inadequate lover. Manning, a practicing Mormon and Freemason, had a mission. He was a seducer of nations, not of women. He believed in a New World Order, but it had to be peaceably achieved, and for this Manning had to be there 24/7, ‘in the front line’ which left little time for personal attachments.

The link between Mormonism and Freemasonry was, for Lucas Manning, the key to understanding the two sides of the New World Order. For him, there had always been a religious and a political aspect. Freemasonry had been a powerful political influence on the world-affairs stage since its emergence in medieval Scotland, and later in the early 18th century England. Its influence had grown since then under one guise or another, and it took a major shift in the early 19th century as the ideal model for the ‘New World Order’.

On its emergence in the Americas, a certain Joseph Smith set out on a mission with his newly created Church of Latter-day Saints, the Mormons.

Mormonism was to be part of the early 19th-century American movement of religious revivalism: ‘The Second Great Awakening’, as it became best known, but it had other names: ‘New Atlantis’, ‘The New World Order’, and ‘The Great Plan’. Joseph Smith set up home in Palmyra, upstate New York. It was here, so it is said, that the angel Moroni appeared to him––echoing the visitation of Archangel Gabriel, to Mohammad, and indeed the Virgin Mary––some scholars even suggested that Gabriel and Maroni were in fact one and the same. Subsiquently Smith was instructed to set in motion the restoration of the ‘true religion of God’. After a series of further apparitions came the Great Revelation. Under instruction and direction, he supposedly unearthed a set of tablets. These were inscribed with the history of the lost Jewish tribe, alleged to have come to America during biblical times. These tablets were said to be the Urim and Thummim mentioned in the Old Testament. Smith published the contents of the tablets in 1830 as ‘The book of More Good’, later to called ‘The Book of Mormon’.

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