Chapter 103

Happy New Year.

I was standing by the main walkway entrance leading to the main chamber. The main chamber was where all the UN diplomats held their international votes, decided UN policy and held forums.

Testimony is given before assembly. So are pompous lies and propaganda, mixed with a little truth and massive grandstanding. It’s all about a level of international politics few people ever see. Add in the hundreds of billions of dollars and control by the UN general assembly.

And control is what they wanted. Control over the world’s financial system, control over all fuels, control over the food supply, control over all housing with the UN deciding who would live in your house with you to end the world’s poverty and homelessness.

They thought they deserved a massive UN tax on the world’s workers to control and give away to poor and developing nations, along with lining their pockets along the way and living lavish lifestyles in NYC and secret bank accounts.

They had tried multiple times to ban small arms and seize them. The only weapons they wanted was in the hands of UN soldiers they controlled. They wanted a UN police force to replace state and local police in the United States and Europe to enforce new UN mandated laws. Local politics and local elections for sheriffs made your local police criminals in the eyes of the UN; they had to be appointed by the UN.

The UN troops - made up of soldiers from third world countries - used in Africa and Kosovo had proven to be as corrupt as the worst war lord armies of the world. Most UN troops were from African countries and were there for the money and all the children and women they could molest, rape or murder, stealing food destined for the starving. I had seen the results; that’s why I supported the refugee camp.

The diplomats and their groups were filing in. I saw Iran’s supreme leader, their President and General Bashir walking towards and past me with an entourage of reporters from the Middle East.

I stepped out where I could be seen, in Persian I yelled, ‘‘General Bashir- do have you a minute to talk?’’ as I started towards them.

He stared, all expression gone from his face the look of fear replacing it - then he regained his composure. ‘‘What could you want to talk to me about. I have nothing to say to you,’’ he said.

‘‘I have a few people I thought you might like to see. I’m sure they would like to see you. They are only a few minutes away and I will have you back in time for the assembly opening session,’’ I said.

The three held a whispering session, finger pointing and hand waving. Finally the Supreme leader came to me and said, ‘‘He goes only if we go with him.’’

‘‘The three of you and no one else and I will agree,’’ I said.

There was another animated discussion, ‘‘We will not be harmed and will be returned here?” the supreme leader asked.

‘‘As long as you do not touch me, you will not be harmed and you will be returned here,’’ I said.

‘‘OK,’’ the General said.

‘‘ This way then,’’ I said as I called the Suburban to meet us at the street. Cameras were everywhere, clicking away.

I changed the channel on the radio and said, ‘‘We are on our way - make it happen.’’

Make it happen was code for the group to cut the chain. On the north end of the UN Secretariat building was a large public park. The park was surrounded by a chain on posts every so many feet.

With the chain cut the group of Suburbans was to pull into the park in a semicircle. They were to set up the five chairs and have the men sitting on them when we got there.

I had enough men there to guard the entrance after we pulled through and maintain a security corridor around us.

When we pulled in through the cut fence, everything was as I ordered. The five hooded men were sitting in folding chairs in the semi-circle protected by the Suburbans. We were followed by whatever media that could find a taxi or car with boom mikes and camera crew.

The media and others were trying their best to get past my security men without success. Their screams of the rights of the press were ignored.

The four of us walked to the first chair where I removed the hood. Speaking in Persian, ‘‘Say hello and good bye,’’ after allowing them a few minutes to talk. Most of which was on how they had been treated. I placed the hood back on and went to the next chair.

When I finished placing the hood back on the last one, they stood, waiting to see what was next.

I snapped my fingers and Major Zeke Armstrong stepped forward, ‘‘Yes ma-am.’’

In Persian so they could not mistake what I was saying, ‘‘Major, your orders are to deliver these prisoners to Fort Polo. In seven days you are to remove their genitals to deny them their virgins. At noon on that seventh day you are to execute all of them.”

‘‘You are to remove their heads and to pack them in dry ice for shipment to Pakistan for delivery to the Iranian embassy there as proof of their fate. The bodies are to be wrapped with swine entrails and cremated so they wander in hell forever. Their ashes are to be dumped in the swine pens to further solidify their fate,’’ I added.

‘‘Do you understand your orders Major?’’ I asked.

‘‘Yes Ma-am, to the letter,’’ he replied.

“Load them up, make it happen,’’ I said.

‘‘Yes, Ma-am,’’ he replied his men started the process.

The three were clearly shaken; they had not expected such an insult to their family and in public at that.