Prologue
A small high school
Somewhere in America…
Matt Thompson stood at the podium before his fifth period history class, sweating profusely. Today was the day. He looked up at the camera and microphone above the door, pointed right at him.
To Hell with Big Brother, he thought. I'm going to tell these kids the truth. Not the crap they've printed in these new textbooks. I don't care what they do to me. These kids are going to get a history lesson. A real history lesson.
The class was a bit rambunctious, as usual, but they calmed down when he cleared his throat and started to speak.
"Okay, class, today we have a lesson that starts off with a little class participation."
Groans went up from the students, who much preferred listening to teachers ramble than actually having to do anything.
"Now, wait! You don't even know what it is," Matt tried to explain, but his words were falling on deaf ears.
"Come on, humor me! How about it?" he said, opening his text and turning almost to the end. "I want you to go to page 314."
A whirring sound came from the camera and the lens dialed in closer on him.
"We're going to go to the year 2000 and…" Matt trailed off, tearing the last chapters of the textbook out and dropping them on the floor. "…Get rid of this horrendous hunk of complete bullshit!"
The cheers were deafening, and suddenly the class couldn't wait to participate in the assignment. The sound of tearing pages was music to Matt's ears.
"I was hired by this school system to teach history, and damn it, I'm going to teach a little history today. For once."
Matt walked around the front of the podium. "You are being lied to. We're all being lied to. The crap they printed in these books is not how things happened. This is how they would have liked for things to have happened. This is what they want you to think happened. But it is not how things happened.
"Here's a history lesson for you: He started out small. In a heavily contested election, with allegations of fraud and intimidation, he assumed power. In tiny increments he began to dismantle the protections of the country's citizens."
Hands shot up everywhere, but Matt held up a finger, asking them to hold their answers. The camera pivoted to follow him as we walked around the classroom.
"He curtailed the rule of law. His policies were xenophobic, imperialistic, and nationalistic. His foreign policy was backed with the threat of force."
More hands were waving, but Matt called on no one. He just kept teaching. And it felt good.
"To come across as legitimate he worked with the international community, but when they wouldn't go along with him he acted unilaterally. He was a master of propaganda, subverting the media for his own purposes, virtually at will."
The kids were almost apoplectic in their desire to give the right answer, squirming in their seats and trying to stretch their hands to the ceiling.
"Finally, he solidified his power through regimented discrimination toward a specific group of people," Matt said, scanning the class, trying to decide who to allow the privilege of giving the answer. "Carson, who am I talking about?"
Carson smiled, dropping his hand to his desk. "You're talking about Adolf Hitler!"
"Close, but wrong!" Matt said, hearing the quickened footsteps coming down the hall. "I'm talking about our current President. I'm telling you that this administration…"
The door to the classroom opened in a rush, slamming against the wall and shattering the glass in the door. Mr. Riley, the principal, stood glaring at Matt. "MR. THOMPSON! THAT IS ENOUGH!"
Behind Mr. Riley stood two menacing men in black suits and sunglasses. They stepped into the room and seized Matt by the arms, dragging him away.
"Kids! Don't be sheep! Question everything! Fight for your rights!" Matt Thompson called out behind him as he disappeared down the hall and out of the lives of his students forever.
Mr. Riley monitored class the rest of the day, and the next day a substitute filled in for Mr. Thompson who, the students were told, was very, very sick.
And they all got brand new textbooks.
Chapter One
The conference room of Rush International
Washington, D.C.
9:05 am
William Rush sat at the head of the long conference table, fingers steepled under his chin, watching the newest public service announcement that his eggheads had come up with. The monitor was roughly the size of a movie screen, yet still didn't dominate the wall on which it resided. The eggheads, otherwise known as the Public Relations Department, wrung their hands nervously, their expectant eyes turned to the face of their fearless leader. They could barely see the boss in the darkened room, the light from the screen being the only thing that made him stand out from the wall of shadow behind him.
On the screen a close-up shot of a waving American flag blows in the wind, superimposed over a medley of scenes from our nation's most famous landmarks. Mount Rushmore, The Grand Canyon, The Great Smokey Mountains. Walmart. McDonald's. A Coca Cola bottling plant. All the things that make America the greatest nation on Earth. In the background plays the familiar, subdued tune,
The Battle Hymn of the Republic
.
And over all of this comes the booming, powerful voice of William Rush.
"Freedom. What does that word mean to you? Well, to me, it means honoring those who have gone before us, paving the way for what we have now. It means a debt that can never be repaid. It means the responsibility to do the right thing for this great nation of ours."
Then suddenly, the scenes change. Gone are the national landmarks and icons of the American corporate monolith. Gone is the soft, patriotic music, replaced by the horrific strains of a sinister pipe organ. Screams of terror rip from the speakers and the flag disappears, leaving only the video footage of the latest terror attack. The attack on Disney World. Fire and smoke. Explosions. Body parts litter the ground. Blood and guts and gore, all compliments of the six o'clock news. People crying, people dying. A person in a Mickey Mouse costume writhes in agony as we see the costume go up in flames.