Spectre, the Organization Behind all of the Evil in our Troubled World.

I am an early riser. When I am on my boat, I awake in the wee hours of the morning, before the sun. I often walk on deck to find myself in the universe. My mind is at its sharpest in the morning.

I go to a coffee shop in the nearby village. There in that little shop, in that little village, I meet friends. Our cloistered group is diverse. It includes retired sea captains, an occasional spy, policemen, wood carvers, dentists, builders, and mechanics. All are intelligent. All are deep thinkers. I so enjoy mornings in the village. It is there that I forge elemental thoughts into understanding. There, surrounded by such diverse intellect, I test assertions and theory with that illusive thing that my wife calls “normality”.

I suppose I am a conspiracy theorist, one who believes that which George W. Bush swore that we would never tolerate, “outlandish conspiracy theories.” I did not believe them once. I have grown to see the obvious, and I have grown to dispel beliefs that defy reason.

.The Pentagon, the most highly protected building on the planet, which was rammed by an airplane piloted by a hijacker who had trouble landing a Cessna 172. This incredible feat occurred hours after the U.S. recognized that it was under attack by many hijacked airliners. Though Andrews Air force Base is two minutes away by F-16 (about seven miles) no planes intercepted the airliner. Sorry I don’t have a picture of the plane hitting the Pentagon. There weren’t any working cameras on that day.

If you believe that the most highly secured building in the world, within the most highly controlled airspace on earth, was successfully attacked by an airliner, piloted by a deeply religious Muslim, (who snorted cocaine with strippers), hours after the United States recognized that we were under attack, you are fortunate. Your beliefs are the easiest to hold. They produce the least conflict. One might assume that you are satisfied, too, with the Warren Report. Try not to make too much fun of my beliefs. Like an out-of-style coat, one day, they may afford you some comfort against the cold, and a bitter cold is coming.

John F. Kennedy, minutes before he was murdered by a lone gunman with a cheap surplus rifle from the sixth floor of the School Book Depository, Dallas, Texas. The shot, improperly situated, impossible, nonetheless killed Kennedy with the “first bullet” piercing his neck, and the second going through his head, Connelly’s shoulder, wrist, spinning around, singing “Dixie”, then spinning around again and landing in soon to be President Johnson’s left hand. He carefully placed it in his watch pocket and then forgot and washed his jeans.

Through reason, and the application of Occam’s Razor, I can no longer accept much that we are told. I see news as obvious propaganda. I question much. I wish not to think as I do. I do so out of prudence, and the desire to understand, not from a need for comfort, or even safety.

Osama Bin Laden, a man who outsmarted the greatest three intelligence organizations on the planet for years while planning and executing an attack on the United States of America successfully – from a cave. (Later he was killed without due process or even a trial – oh, and his body was dumped in the sea!)

It would be easy to list many things that are believed by many, perhaps most, yet are wholly unlikely. I will not. I will also not attempt to defend my beliefs, which are, admittedly, outside the norm. Instead, I will leave you to your own research, consideration, and understandings. Let it suffice to say that many, perhaps most, believe as I do. Something is horribly wrong. Much happens in the shadows. Most is not as it seems. Evil, truly, is eroding the fabric of our Republic.

Ian Fleming, who wrote novels, including James Bond, 007 novels from his Jamaica home “Goldeneye,” named after a covert operation that he managed in WW2.

Some days ago, the old men filtered out of the coffee shop. I was left with a quiet and wise man. He spoke in code-like whispers. As it often does, the coffee shop discussion centered on our nation and its degradation. The sports teams refusing to stand for the anthem, the subordination of the Constitutional guarantees to cowardly assurances of protection. He leaned forward. The coffee shop, now, near empty,“Spectre.”

Bond, James Bond a fictitious character based on real people in Fleming’s Naval Intel.

I looked at him “Spectre?” “Yes,” he replied, “like in James Bond – Ian Fleming – you asked what we are facing. We are facing Spectre.” I sat back and thought for a while. Fleming was a spy – a real spy, who knew spies. He was involved in planning for resistance to the takeover of the world by Hitler, drafting plans to allow communications with Gibraltar. He was involved in the exportation of science from Germany, and even the “removal” of scientists. (Sometimes by kidnapping).

Shawn Connery as James Bond, and the evil Blofeld

Could his books reflect deeper meaning than an exciting read of fantasy? Could Ian Fleming have offered us a glimpse of the thing that is tearing the fabric of democracy apart before our eyes?

I left the coffee shop and went back to the things that I do. Still, his words haunted me. They occupied the corners of my mind, reappearing paired with a thousand stories of smuggling, and hijacking, and murder. Could it be so simple as a singular enemy devoid of caring or honor, bent on domination? An evil empire planning for world domination?

I would that it were so simple. It gives me hope for tomorrow. Perhaps some James Bond will come out of the shadows and, at last, expose the subrogation of our media, our government, our very way of life, by some scarred and horrible man with a white cat.

Perhaps it will all be laid out in great detail for all to see and all to understand, as our hero goes off to a resort in the Bahamas where a beautiful girl awaits, with a dry vodka martini – shaken, not stirred.

Scott Cahill