Alpha and omega, p.7
Alpha and Omega, page 7
Davie never got into trouble with his platoon sergeant for his lost broom, either, but eleven nights later, after a night's drinking off base, Davie Tupper was run over and killed by a speeding 8 wheeler truck. The truck did not stop.
Eyewitnesses stated that the truck seemed to swerve across the road deliberately to hit Tupper, but their statements were not acted on, after all, who would want to kill a harmless imbecile like Davie Jay Tupper?
Although no evidence is forthcoming that he was murdered, Davie Tupper was, almost certainly, the first fatality, the first of millions, in the long chain of death that led from Operation Bridge of Sighs in White Water Springs, Wyoming, to the Sargon Project in northern Iraq, nearly 30 years later. And ultimately to the death of millions upon millions.
And the death of Suzie.
For what Davie Tupper had seen was the transportation of virological samples of, amongst many others, Type A2 Asian flu and Type A2 Hong Kong flu, carried in portable freezer cabinets from the Federal Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta to Colonel James Lewis Ransopher in the White Water Springs Biological Research Facility.
The next phase of Apocalypse was under way.
Chapter Eighteen
The Federal Centers for Disease Control (FCDC) in Atlanta is America's principal agency for the study and statistical monitoring of all infectious disease and viral outbreaks in the US. It also houses and carries out research on samples of tissue and viruses collected from victims of these disease. It holds samples, for example, of HIV, Ebola, cholera, scarlet fever, typhus, meningococcal cerebro-spinal fever, plague, yellow fever, measles and virus hepatitis, diphtheria, pneumonia, herpes, anthrax, leprosy, gangrene, gonorrhoea and syphilis, in fact specimens of just about every disease, illness or infection that has ever been inflicted upon an American anywhere in the entire world is kept there.
FCDC also holds one of only two known samples remaining on earth of smallpox variola , the disease which having caused millions of deaths was finally totally eradicated following a worldwide vaccination programme led by Russia and the US. The other sample is held in a laboratory in Moscow, although I do now remember picking up something on the internet about an ethical debate that took place at the International Congress of Virology which was held in Glasgow sometime during the summer of 1993, (I think) as to whether or not these samples should be destroyed. I don't recall seeing a resolution to the discussions. But even if the Atlanta and Moscow samples are destroyed, the genetic make-up of smallpox is known and the virus can be readily re-created in a laboratory - compared to modern day scientists, Dr Frankenstein was just a beginner in the God-playing game.
The Federal Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta also holds many thousands of samples of Influenza A2 and its derivatives.
And on February 25th, 1967, by Presidential order, quantities of these samples of influenza virus, and others, were flown, firstly by an US Army C-130 Hercules and then by a CH-47 Chinook transport helicopter, to Ransopher at White Water Springs.
As the US Government has persistently stated that there never was a Bridge of Sighs Project, obviously there are very few published accounts of the transfer of the virus, or of the White Water Springs research programme, at all. All official documents relating to Bridge of Sighs are buried, of course, deep in the unyielding vaults of the National Archive and forget about the Freedom of Information Act, those box filed fuckers are going stay hidden away in deep shadow and will never see the light of day again until fucking Doomsday baby. Which I suppose, in fact, ain't too far away.
In fact the only references to ‘Operation Bridge of Sighs’ that I have ever seen were an article in 'Newsweek' magazine which appeared in November 1998, shortly after the outbreak had reached pandemic proportions, and a much earlier and little read piece in a now defunct magazine called 'American Watchdog', which was reprinted in the subsequent issue of 'Newsweek' and appeared on the internet for a few weeks before the web closed down.
'American Watchdog' was a non-party organisation founded by the British born philanthropist Arthur J Hore in 1964 with the avowed intention of bringing to light those unsavoury government deeds that governments (of whatever political persuasion) preferred to keep hidden, taking upon itself the self-imposed task of 'America's conscience'. Reports of their activities and findings were published in the quarterly journal of the same name.
Not surprisingly, 'American Watchdog' attracted the attentions of FBI Director J Edgar Hoover, who denounced the organisation as ‘a front for the dissemination of communist propaganda’ and devoted much of the resources of the Bureau in trying to discredit Arthur J Hore and 'American Watchdog.' In 1971 he succeeded, arranging for the publication of series of photographs, most probably forged, which purported to show Hore entering and leaving 'The Blue Turtle Club' a well-known homosexual night club in lower Washington Street, Boston's red light district - the notorious Combat Zone. Forged or not, the photographs destroyed overnight any credibility that 'American Watchdog', America's conscience, had been able to achieve over the years.
J Edgar Hoover's efforts notwithstanding however, during its six and half years of existence, 'American Watchdog' published an impressive series of exposures, being one of the first publications to raise the issue of the use of 'Agent Orange' defoliation chemicals in Vietnam, championed New Orleans District Attorney Jim Gallagher's allegations of a cover up behind the Kennedy assassination, exposed several instances of corruption and Mafia connections amongst highly placed Justice Department officials, and ironically, reputedly obtained photographic evidence (engineered by organised crime for blackmail purposes) that J Edgar Hoover had himself sustained a lengthy homosexual relationship, details of which are now only beginning to emerge. But even after his manufactured disgrace by Hoover, Arthur Howe still steadfastly refused to lower himself to Hoover's level and make his files public.
And, of course, 'American Watchdog's issue for September 1969, carried the story of the transfer of virological samples from Atlanta to White Water Springs Biological Research Facility, for the purpose of 'clandestine biological weapons production.'The story was published under the bye-line of D Sherlock Watson, such an patently phony name that the story carried little credence nationwide.
But for all that, it was a well written article, a sound piece of investigative journalism. The background to the project is sketched out, Ransopher is named, the transfer of the virus is mentioned and the murder of Davie Jay Tupper hinted at, several un-named sources are quoted, denials and no comments are recorded from government spokesmen. Ransopher had been contacted at his Long Island mansion, but he refused to be drawn on the issue. The facility at White Water Springs was described, at least externally, and the piece concluded that the US Government had been involved in clandestine biological warfare experimentation. (Surprise surprise!)
D Sherlock Watson, whoever he was, knew his stuff and if the piece had been published in a more reputable publication could well have been a Pulitzer prize contender.
The later 'Newsweek' story was clearly more authoritative but used much of the same material and sources as 'D Sherlock Watson', with the notable exception that they could not approach Ransopher, who had died from a spinal tumour in 1984. I hope it was painful, Ransopher, may you rot in hell forever.
I have also heard, but cannot substantiate, that in 1973 Charles Berlitz, the author of 'The Bermuda Triangle' and 'The Philadelphia Experiment' amongst others, wrote a full length account of 'Project Bridge of Sighs', including eye-witness accounts from some of those who worked on the project at WWSBRF, but that publication was suppressed on the orders of President Richard Nixon and all copies of the manuscript and other documents seized, including Berlitz' draft copies and research notes. Judging by what else Tricky Dicky was trying to suppress at the same time, it seems more than likely.
Of course the 'Newsweek' report was inundated under a plethora of other stories about the pandemic, there were hundreds of web site pages with all sorts of speculations and theories (my favourite was that the epidemic was prelude to a Martian invasion and who is to say he’s wrong), but curiously nobody else picked up on the Bridge of Sighs aspect, all others concentrated solely on Iraq and the Sargon Project angle. One thing has always puzzled me, something that neither the 'American Watchdog' or 'Newsweek' articles or anybody else even commented on, -why was a transport plane the size of a Hercules required to transport, at most, five or six cabinets each the size of a large chest freezer?
I mean, think about it, a Hercules is a giant. Admittedly, it's not as big as a Jumbo 747, but for the job in hand, it's fucking enormous , 112 feet long, 38 feet high, wingspan of over 130 feet, payload of 19685kg, or 43,399lbs, nearly 20 tons in real money. 5 freezer cabinets? Shit, you could transport a whole fucking factory full of freezers in the damn thing.
And why by plane? Aeroplanes fall out of the sky. Fortunately none that I have ever flown did, but others do or rather did, and with depressing regularity. Why send deadly viruses by air across virtually the entire width of America? Why take the risk, however slight in actuarial terms, that the beast might come crashing down into the middle of Chicago, or St Louis or Denver or Salt Lake City or where-ever? Whatever flight path it took it had to fly over or near major population centres. Why?
Why not transport them by train? I'm sure the US Army could have laid on a special train if they did not want anyone to see, after all, they transport toxic wastes and radio-active nuclear scrap by train, why not these particular viruses? It makes no sense, was the delivery of the viruses so urgent it could not have waited another 3 or 4 days for them to travel by train?
Of course, the internet and world wide web have gone down now, so I no longer have access to the 'American Watchdog' article, or to any of the other sources and I seem to have misplaced the November 98 'Newsweek' article which a downloaded, but, so far as I can recall, the only item in the accounts which gives any sort of clue, is the fact that Davie Jay Tupper heard and saw signs of welding. But even so, it still does not explain why the viruses were sent by plane. Or why the plane was many times larger than necessary. As for the welding, it means what? Sweet bugger all. Only that the freezer cabinets were sealed inside a welded steel box? Hermetically sealed perhaps? The time it took to weld the fuckers into a purpose made steel box, by then the cabinets could have been two days down the line on Amtrak.
In the long run, it actually matters very little. Viruses arrived by whatever means at White Water Springs, and then good old Colonel James Lewis Ransopher II fucked around with them and made them invincible and in so doing wiped out the human race. Great fucking job, Colonel. Just peachy.
Chapter Nineteen
Over Northern Iraq. 14 December 1998
LATE AFTERNOON
The Russian built Mil Mi-24 'Hind D' helicopter seemed to be in pursuit of its own shadow, always it was there in view out of the window, scurrying below them like a giant black beetle across the desert floor, leaping over cracks and crevices, hurdling rocks and boulders, the shadow fattening as the sun sank lower toward the clean-cut rim of the horizon that shimmered across the red sand and shale, dramatically cleft by the sharp purpling azure of approaching dusk.
Major General Abdul Aziz Muttar leaned back into his seat, wearied by the buffeting noise from the 2,200 hp Isotov TV3-117 turboshaft engines that thundered above his head. Even through the padded ear pieces of the head phones he wore, the battering roar was almost painful, the incessant whap-whap-whap-whap-whap-whap of the rotor blades thrashing at the air was like a spiked club pulsating inside his skull, screwing up the pressure on his headache like a vice, and the heavy vibrations from the powerplants seemed to drain the strength from his body, like sugar flowing from a punctured plastic bag as you carry it home from the shops. He was pulverised by noise, encased in din, made older, weary of life, ready to welcome the ease of death, anything for peace of body, for peace of mind, peace of spirit.
Yet curiously alive. Paradoxically, despite his weariness, despite his acceptance that death would soon claim him, he felt vibrant, alive. A keen edged sense of anticipation and apprehension surged through him, as it did before going into battle, his heart beat faster with the tension that had corkscrewed up in him from the moment his latest visit to the chemical weapons centre at Qal'at Bishah had been confirmed.
For Qal'at Bissah was the key to the death of Saddam Hussein.
No one could ever get close to Saddam Hussein with a weapon, General Muttar had realised that as he repeated his vow at burials of his wife Mariam, son Mohammed, and grandchildren Abbas and Khulood. He had said his prayers over the shrouded bodies as they were lowered into their graves, straightened up and repeated his vow. Saddam would die, by his hand.
No one would ever get close to Saddam with a gun, or a knife. No one could poison him as he only ever ate food prepared by his own chef and nothing passed his lips that had had not already been tasted by others, his quarters were checked several times a day for bombs, all visitors were frisked for weapons by security guards using metal detectors, indeed it was not unknown for visitors to be strip searched before being allowed into Saddam's presence. Saddam even took his own chair with him everywhere he went so as to prevent an enemy embedding a poisonous tack or needle in the cushion.
Constantly alert to the threat of assassination, (there had been at least twenty eight attempts since the end of the Gulf War alone) Saddam made extensive use of doubles and his daily movements and itinerary were kept secret and constantly changing, making it almost impossible to plan ahead, it would be impossible, for instance, to place a bomb along an intended motorcade route, the chances were that Saddam would change his intentions at the last moment and fail to appear at all.
Most of his close security were either Tikritis or chosen from the elite of the Republican guards and could never be bribed to allow a gun into the presence of Saddam. Not that Muttar could have even approached anyone without risk of denunciation.
But Qal'at Bissah held the key.
The pitch of the rotors screamed higher as the 'Hind' turned sharply to the right, dropping lower, skimming along the desert surface at a height of 50 feet, the body of the giant gunship tilted sharply towards the nose, as if sniffing out the contours. The rush of the ground below, now merely a smeared blur, was making General Muttar feel dizzy. He did not like helicopters, especially when they flew this fast and this low and he had to turn away from the window. Beside him Kamal, and next to Kamal, a Major in his entourage slept on, snoring slightly, their nasal rattles drowned by the hammering noise above. Muttar patted his pockets, reassuring himself that his prize was there, although he had already done so several times already.
He felt his stomach lurch again as the helicopter turned yet again, a tightening turn that tilted the Hind further to the right, forcing Muttar against the door and window, despite the restraint of his seat belt, and then the 'Hind', slowed, took on more height, camouflaged buildings and netted AA gun and SAM missile emplacements came into view and the helicopter slowly began it's descent onto the runway of Maq'ala Airfield, near the town of Ba'Qubah, some 20 miles to the north of Baghdad. Even though repairs had taken place, Muttar could still see the scars of bomb damage from where the low flying GR1 Tornados of XV Squadron, flying out of Bahrain, had dropped JP233 anti-runway devices during the first days of the Gulf War.
Major-General Muttar was not an airman and did not know which pilots or aircraft had made the bombing runs through solid curtains of anti-aircraft fire, but as a soldier, he admired bravery, and silently acknowledged the courage of the men who had made those fearsomely dangerous attacks, probably the most dangerous missions of the entire air war.
Slowly the 'Hind' descended amidst a maelstrom of swirling dust and sand, the wheels touched and the gunship settled onto it hydraulics with a sigh of apparent relief and the pilot cut the engines. Unkinking his body, General Muttar slowly stepped out through the helicopter door, instinctively ducking as he caught sight of the rotor blades still spinning above his head. He acknowledged the salutes of the guard lined up to meet him, and then sank gratefully into the air-conditioned silent luxury of his Mercedes which had swept up to meet him, declining the courtesies of the base commander who offered him tea or coffee and a place to clean up. Muttar simply wanted to get the day over and done with. And to hide his stolen treasure - the key to the death of Saddam.
With a jerk of his thumb and a curt 'Fuck off' Kamal dismissed the temporary driver, took the wheel and drove off. Outriders on motorbikes escorted them along the highway directly to the Ministry of Defence headquarters at North Gate, where General Muttar had to report his progress to the Minister of Defence and Deputy Commander of the Armed Forces, Gen. Adnan Al-Khalil.
As he had done every month for the past seven years. Reporting the progress of the Sargon Project.
Chapter Twenty
BAGHDAD. MINISTRY OF DEFENCE. OFFICE OF THE DEPUTY MINISTER OF DEFENCE AND DEPUTY COMMANDER OF THE ARMED FORCES.
14 DECEMBER 1998
General Adnan Al-Khalil's desk was no bigger than the average Presidential stretched Cadillac limousine. And as highly polished. Not a thing lay on the top of the desk, no papers, pens, ashtrays, desk sets or diaries, no framed family photographs. Not even a telephone dared to sully it's pristine surfaces. It was as barren, and as glacial as the arctic polar cap. As had been Al-Khalil's welcome.
There had been never ever been the usual Arab courtesies, no cups of lemon tea, no Arabic coffee or dates, no small talk or pleasantries. For seven years General Muttar had stood at attention before the desk and given his report like a junior officer on reprimand before his commanding officer.
More nervous than he wanted to appear, Muttar stared on a point above Adnan Al-Khalil's head, trying to avoid looking at the large framed portrait of Saddam Hussein in full dress uniform that hung behind Adnan, the only decoration in the entire gymnasium sized office apart from pot plants, mostly ficus, that stood at regular intervals, like soldiers lined up on guard duty, along one wall of the room.
