Return of Our Country Read online

  return

  of our

  country

  by

  david M. Burke

  We have 15 billion in gold in our treasury and we don’t own an ounce. Foreign dollar claims are 27.3 billion dollars.

  - Ronald Reagan

  History will record with the greatest astonishment that those who had the most to lose did the least to prevent its happening. Well I think it’s time we ask ourselves if we still know the freedoms that were intended for us by the Founding Fathers.

  - Ronald Reagan

  If we lost freedom here, there’s no place to escape to.

  This is the last stand on earth.

  - Ronald Reagan

  It is well enough that the people of the nation do not understand our banking and monetary system for, if they did, I believe there would be a revolution before tomorrow morning.

  - Henry Ford

  Copyright © 2020 by David M. Burke

  This book is a work of fiction. Footnoted references are used simply and wholly to add a reference point in history and are not to imply that this is a work of non-fiction. In addition, all references not footnoted, which include historical events, real people, or real places, are used fictitiously to develop the story line of the novel. Places, events, and characters are purely a product of the author’s imagination, and any use of actual events or resemblance to actual events or to places or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental, the purpose being to help the reader best visualize the Return Of Our Country.

  All Rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and/or retrieval system, without the written permission of David M. Burke. Inquiries should be sent to the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-0-578-69968-4

  Website: davidburke.us

  Email: [email protected]

  Twitter: @dmburkeauthor

  Cover design and layout by Norm Williams, nwa-inc.com

  Edited by Katy Light, editsbykaty.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  Acknowledgements

  Many thanks to Norm Williams and Julie Nielsen for all the help with formatting, publishing, cover art and always being there.

  A special thanks to Boyd Craven author for conducting very helpful free seminars for new authors.

  I would like to also thank the authors of the books I reference and whatever source gave me the premonition that led me to write this book.

  Prologue

  1963

  Virtues To Die For

  The explosive thrust sent the president’s head forward. Another shot, from a different direction, jolted his head back as blood and brains splattered on the top of the trunk. A bullet entered Governor Connally’s back, and ripped through his body before exiting just below his nipple, then continued clean through his wrist and lodged in his right thigh. Panic stricken, those inside the vehicle ducked down, except for the President’s horrified wife who, in her panic-stricken state, reached for a section of the President’s head, which lay on the trunk of the open top convertible sedan. As she picked up the piece, she somehow reasoned that her husband — the President of the United States — the most powerful man in the world — could be put back together.

  The crowd was in a panic. Some took cover on the ground. Others ran. One woman slowly lowered her camera. She had been filming. Her mouth hung open.

  * * *

  Thousands of miles away, self-centered Lord Rothmayer, one of the wealthiest men in the world, studied his television screen as the scene unfolded.

  He turned to his brother and his nephew, who would eventually take over the family business. His raspy voice resonated through the room. “There, it’s done. I told you we’d handle it.”

  Several months before that, the President of the United States had eliminated the Federal Reserve. The US treasury had been printing the country’s money. The President had printed enough cash in those few months to fund the entire US economy for more than a year. To that day, the Treasury continued to print. But, that would all stop now.

  Rothmayer was the family patriarch. He had personally taken charge of the hit on the President. He glanced back at the television for a brief second before resuming eye contact with his brother.

  He pressed his hands to his knees to help himself stand. “That should put an end to it for our lifetime,” he said.

  The aristocrat turned to his nephew and added, “But you may have to deal with this the next time.”

  The established patriarch of the family businesses pointed at the TV. “You need to never let what he wanted to do happen, or that will be the end of our way of life.”

  This family was the largest owner of the Federal Reserve. Tomorrow, the very next day after the president’s assassination, those dollars the President had printed would all be recalled. Every bank in the US would keep the dollars as soon as they came in. They’d practically all be confiscated within a year or two. And the families who owned the private Federal Reserve would all be back in business. They’d be printing Federal Reserve notes on overtime, starting tomorrow. The media would be busy covering the assassination and they’d never cover the Federal Reserve. It had all been arranged.

  Rothmayer’s tone softened and he said, “By the way, how is little Amstel?”

  Chapter 1

  Modern Day, Election year, Washington DC

  Adam Youngeagle moved to his left as the man came at him. With his left hand, the Vice President reached out and met the attacker’s gun hand, placing his thumb on the back side of the assailant’s hand, between the ring and pinky fingers. Adam’s right hand came up and supported his left. With lightning speed, he gripped the gun hand and twisted the attacker’s wrist inward towards his bicep with a downward thrust, causing the man to lose his grip on the gun. Now at the man’s left side, Adam maintained control of the hand, and brought his left leg up behind the man’s shoulder and took him to the ground with a thud, executing a nice arm bar. Adam torqued the man’s arm.

  The trainer barked, “Okay, nice move, but get up. We can’t have you take a man to the ground and stay there. As soon as you hit the ground, you need to complete your move and bounce up.”

  The trainer was direct. He wanted Adam’s moves to be subconscious in the unlikely event he ever had to use them.

  Adam knew this highly skilled opponent wasn’t as easy as the others with whom he’d previously trained. This guy fought the disarm the whole way and it took longer to complete the proper torque.

  Since being elected to the office of vice president, Adam had been working out routinely here at the White House athletic center. The Seventeenth Street address was right across Pennsylvania Ave. from the White House. It served as the primary physical fitness center for the employees of the Executive Office of the President. The head of the facility had discreetly brought in this world class trainer, along with some of the most notable MMA and martial arts competitors in the country. Adam used this as his primary workout facility to hone his skills while staying in shape and relieving stress.

  Adam stood dripping in sweat and acknowledged what he already knew. “Understood, get out of the situation and make my way to safety.”

  The trainer nodded once. At first, he hadn’t been keen on the idea of training a politician. He was sure he’d have to water down his regimen. But after the first workout with Adam, he had realized Adam wanted anything but that. Wanting to build his already exceptional skills, Adam enjoyed a competitive workout and the excitement helped
him maintain a steady routine without boredom. Since going to a regular gym wasn’t an option any more, Adam now had the trainers come to him. Usually, it was in the early morning like this, before it got crowded.

  The trainer smiled and reframed his previous comment with a lighter tone, saying, “train like your life depends on it.”

  “Got it.” Adam smiled and faced off with the man in front of him again.

  The next time around, Adam disarmed the man, bounced up and jogged a few feet away, simulating his getaway. Their training usually ended with something practical, like Adam getting out of a situation.

  They had been training for an hour and Adam had worked up a strong sweat. He took his workouts seriously. He wasn’t one to socialize much once the sparring started.

  Krieger was standing nearby watching. He looked at the clock and said, “Sir, it’s about time.”

  Colonel Don Krieger had become a friend to Adam. Originally brought on by the president to head up security when their election campaign started, Krieger and Adam now worked very closely together. Wearing multiple hats, one of Krieger’s areas of authority spanned overseeing the president and vice president’s personal security. Being an ex-Marine Special Operations commander who had seen many special operations missions before leading the largest military base east of the Mississippi, Colonel Krieger had grown to respect Adam. Ever since there had been an assassination attempt on Adam and George in the Grand Canyon of Pennsylvania, Krieger’s respect for Adam had begun to grow as he’d watched Adam grab a gun from a downed man and engage in the ensuing firefight. Then, a few months later when Adam had been kidnapped by those trying to derail the president’s bid to be the first non-politician to become president of the United States, he had seen how Adam had fought off the assailants. When Adam had gone missing, Krieger had watched the recorded footage from closed circuit cameras in the hallway. Adam, the vice presidential candidate at that time, who had a legitimate black belt in a few different styles of martial arts, took out four trained assailants. He would have gotten away, if the last one hadn’t stuck him with a tranquilizer in the leg.

  Adam was the president’s voice of reason on economic issues. He had written about the demise of the middle class and was the foremost voice of the needs for the resurgence of the middle class. That’s why there were many that didn’t want either him or the President to win the reelection. The globalists were genuinely afraid of what they’d do in a second term.

  Adam glanced at the clock. “Okay, that’s all for today fellas.”

  After waiting for Adam to do his usual fifty sit-ups with a forty-five-pound plate behind his head, Krieger escorted Adam to an adjoining room, where he took a call. Adam rolled his eyes as he listened to the House Majority Leader explain why they needed to spend so much more money than they had the previous year. It was obvious that the Majority Leader was saying that the president would not get support from the establishment to cut costs. Unfortunately, he was right. Adam and the president weren’t in a position to cut spending. Actually, the plan was to cut massive amounts of waste and run a surplus after winning the election. Until then, it was spending as usual. Adam hung up. He needed to keep moving.

  * * *

  Adam stood in the shower, letting the warm water run down his back. His thoughts wandered. The president had been recruited by some in the military. It was actually the marines. They knew the country was about to fall to the hands of the globalists.

  But no one knew Adam. He reflected on how grateful he was to be the vice president. President George Carnegie had met Adam through some others while Adam was living in an unfurnished apartment in a barn in northern Pennsylvania. Adam had built his family’s failing business to over one hundred million dollars in revenue and over that in profits in just under fifteen years. Then, through a series of ill-advised moves, uncontrolled spending and paying well connected people too much, the family business was lost. Adam hadn’t ever been given the stock he was owed, so he had to go to work for other people. He wasn’t suited for that.

  Adam knew he wasn’t alone in his economic struggle. After a few years, he understood the plight of almost every other working person. He’d been a top producer at the jobs he’d had, but it didn’t matter. Only politically correct and well-connected people got ahead. There was no use being a top producer in corporate America, the culture had changed too much.

  Then providence had smiled on him. Now, Adam was the vice president. He and the president had fought the establishment tooth and nail. The establishment had used every trick in the book and invented a few new ones to stop them. But the president was a stud. He was a master at engaging people during his rallies and getting his messages out. Sure, Adam fed him some key talking points, but the president was the one out there tirelessly engaging the people, and dealing with politicians and the media.

  Adam had a different role in the administration. Working behind the scenes, he did more of the dirty work than anyone would ever know. That was fine with him. Together they had given the country many wins and more importantly, hope.

  The country was being attacked by an enemy that, until he and the president had got into office, had been content to devour the country slowly. But, now with the president and Adam having so much success, the globalists were in a full out panic and had suddenly begun using tactics never before deployed. They shamelessly yielded the power their positions afforded. They knew that behind the scenes, the president was lining up charges to take them out legally. Record numbers of politicians from both parties had already retired rather than face prosecution. They knew the heat was coming. Now, the deep state feared what the president would do to them if he was reelected. For that reason, Adam understood that the establishment would attack them with something new. He thought, what will these globalists do next?

  Adam turned around, letting the water run down his head and the front of his face. Then he shut the hot water off quickly. Ice cold water sprayed out. His muscles tensed and he took deep breaths. Ending his showers this way invigorated him.

  He turned off the faucet and wiped the water from his face. It was time to head to the office. He had some things to address before he and Krieger had an interview to do.

  Chapter 2

  Six hours ahead of DC, it was midday, and the transformed city of London was bustling with activity. The head of the world banking empire, Amstel Rothmayer, felt a sense of satisfaction as he stared out of the window of his opulent penthouse suite. Amstel Rothmayer was the nephew of the man who’d ordered the hit on Kennedy after President Kennedy had got rid of the most lucrative and risk-free cash flow the world had ever seen, the Federal Reserve.

  He turned and looked over to the Senator who was seated at the opposite side of his desk, then up to one of the large television screens on the wall. The height of the stock market didn’t settle well with him. It created overall wealth and brought hope to the middle class of America. Even worse, they were beginning to realize that the globalists were working within the US government to put higher taxes and regulations on industries. They were realizing that, years ago, when the trade barriers had reached a tipping point, those businesses had left the United States and moved to the globalist properties where they had no environmental laws, no labor, health or safety laws, and could pay people little. It was a windfall for Rothmayer and his cohorts, but the middle class was beginning to realize that the elites were prospering by moving from country to country using these techniques.

  Rothmayer and his family, along with their banking partners, had transformed most of Europe into a socialist society and had controlled both political parties in the United States for decades. Through shell corporations, funds, and a variety of other legal entities, they quietly controlled well over half of the wealth of the world and paid almost no taxes. His life of luxury included houses no president could afford, and lands and private islands where he could indulge all of his cravings for women; the younge
r the better. Who were others to say what was an appropriate age? Others had no authority over him and his kind. He was free to do what he wanted on his private estates around the globe, but now he needed to be more cautious in the United States.

  He could sit back and enjoy himself, but his way was shameless human nature, craving more, taking more, a true Darwinian, survival of the fittest. In his sixties now, he had worked all his life to bring the United States under his total control.

  Rothmayer had a strong sense within him that he wasn’t accustomed to. The president of the US had said publicly that the Federal Reserve was the biggest current threat to the country. Luckily, he and other banking families and their business partners owned controlling interests in the media, and very few of the working class saw the president’s comments.

  But, with the rise of alternative media that used the internet and cell phones to share their messages, globalists had begun to lose control over information to which the working class was exposed. This necessitated that he used untraceable money and connections to control that information. It was working to a degree, but they needed to take it to another level before the president took further action.

  The senator, whose trip to London was cloaked in fake reasons, just sat there and waited for the money. Amstel Rothmayer hadn’t acknowledged the senator for a few minutes. He was bought and paid for. Rothmayer had enough on him that he need not worry about the senator ever betraying him. Rothmayer, after all, didn’t want to end up in a US federal prison himself. The senator had come to feign negotiating, supposedly to improve relationships in the wake of some of the President’s trade moves. But he wasn’t here to make the United States bigger and stronger. Heck, he’d never stay in office with that platform, because there would be no money for his election campaigns. His money came from those who would only give to enriching themselves. That didn’t mean enriching the wealth or culture of the middle class.