Read Online Operation Damocles by Oscar L. Fellows - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Oscar L. Fellows
Ads: Link
differences over the terrorists’ cause” sort of thing. Perspective was of a more serious vein.
Beverly Watkins, host of the show, was a serious woman in her early thirties. She had shoulder-length blond hair, blue eyes and a voluptuous figure. She was attractive and, outwardly, the typical female-model-cum-newscaster-cum-talk-show host of the 2000s.
To her credit, she believed in what she did. Inwardly, she really wasn’t a cookie-cutter model of the stock media “info babe,” and genuinely tried to be of service to the people of her community by keeping her show on a high level, and by focusing on local and national issues that affected them. She didn’t simply try to fill up an hour’s air time.
She was also the programming manager for her station and, within certain constraints, she had a broad latitude of authority in deciding what was aired. At the moment her station manager was vacationing in Bermuda and, as usual, when he was away she was in charge.
She was saying to her guest, “The message on the tape dictates ten commandments that must happen within three weeks or, according to the terrorist, government installations and business centers along the Eastern Seaboard of the United States will be destroyed, including Washington, New York, and other major cities. We’ve had several people on the show who have talked about the scientific and technical feasibility of such a threat, and about the possibility of underlying reasons behind the threats, other than those expressed in the taped message. Though the person on the tape mentions no co-conspirators, most people think that a fair-sized organization was necessary to accomplish the enormous technological feat of constructing and putting such a weapon system in orbit. No independent organization known has such a capability. All nations with the capability of launching the weapon deny having any knowledge of it.
“Regarding the possible motives behind such an obviously expensive venture, the terrorist, or patriot, whichever label one chooses to apply, claims to be interested only in saving the United States. Can you cast any light on the psychological makeup of the man, Dr. Taylor?”
Taylor was a middle-aged, slightly heavy individual with pale eyes and horn-rimmed glasses. He wore a brown, three-piece suit which dated him as eighties-era fashionable, and played with a pipe which Watkins could see had never been smoked, and which she surmised was bought specifically for his appearance on her show. He and Watkins sat in armless swivel-chairs on an elevated coffee table set. Camera technicians operated two dolly cameras in the darkened foreground of the studio.
“Yes, Beverly. He obviously is an antisocial individual, a loner, a person with limited intelligence, possibly even a disgruntled Defense Department employee who was fired for some reason.” Taylor smiled as if he had just announced the formula for eternal youth.
Watkins studied Taylor for a moment, only long practice at maintaining a poker face preventing her from showing her surprise. “Are you serious?” she asked, her voice flat and cold.
She realized, and in the realization felt angry and used, that he was just another brainless publicity seeker who had used the issue and her show to gratify his ego. She considered for a moment, then came to a decision.
“You know, Dr. Taylor, that seems to be the standard description the law-enforcement agencies always use to describe anyone who cracks up and shoots a bunch of people; he was a loner, antisocial, disgruntled, paranoid. Did they get that from you, or are you aping them?”
Taylor looked at her, bewildered. “I don’t understand what you mean,” he said, adjusting the bridge of his glasses with his finger.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Watkins said, staring deadpan at him. “Aren’t those words simply labels that the authorities use when they don’t care to address the real causes? Can’t you think of something original, Dr.
Beverly Watkins, host of the show, was a serious woman in her early thirties. She had shoulder-length blond hair, blue eyes and a voluptuous figure. She was attractive and, outwardly, the typical female-model-cum-newscaster-cum-talk-show host of the 2000s.
To her credit, she believed in what she did. Inwardly, she really wasn’t a cookie-cutter model of the stock media “info babe,” and genuinely tried to be of service to the people of her community by keeping her show on a high level, and by focusing on local and national issues that affected them. She didn’t simply try to fill up an hour’s air time.
She was also the programming manager for her station and, within certain constraints, she had a broad latitude of authority in deciding what was aired. At the moment her station manager was vacationing in Bermuda and, as usual, when he was away she was in charge.
She was saying to her guest, “The message on the tape dictates ten commandments that must happen within three weeks or, according to the terrorist, government installations and business centers along the Eastern Seaboard of the United States will be destroyed, including Washington, New York, and other major cities. We’ve had several people on the show who have talked about the scientific and technical feasibility of such a threat, and about the possibility of underlying reasons behind the threats, other than those expressed in the taped message. Though the person on the tape mentions no co-conspirators, most people think that a fair-sized organization was necessary to accomplish the enormous technological feat of constructing and putting such a weapon system in orbit. No independent organization known has such a capability. All nations with the capability of launching the weapon deny having any knowledge of it.
“Regarding the possible motives behind such an obviously expensive venture, the terrorist, or patriot, whichever label one chooses to apply, claims to be interested only in saving the United States. Can you cast any light on the psychological makeup of the man, Dr. Taylor?”
Taylor was a middle-aged, slightly heavy individual with pale eyes and horn-rimmed glasses. He wore a brown, three-piece suit which dated him as eighties-era fashionable, and played with a pipe which Watkins could see had never been smoked, and which she surmised was bought specifically for his appearance on her show. He and Watkins sat in armless swivel-chairs on an elevated coffee table set. Camera technicians operated two dolly cameras in the darkened foreground of the studio.
“Yes, Beverly. He obviously is an antisocial individual, a loner, a person with limited intelligence, possibly even a disgruntled Defense Department employee who was fired for some reason.” Taylor smiled as if he had just announced the formula for eternal youth.
Watkins studied Taylor for a moment, only long practice at maintaining a poker face preventing her from showing her surprise. “Are you serious?” she asked, her voice flat and cold.
She realized, and in the realization felt angry and used, that he was just another brainless publicity seeker who had used the issue and her show to gratify his ego. She considered for a moment, then came to a decision.
“You know, Dr. Taylor, that seems to be the standard description the law-enforcement agencies always use to describe anyone who cracks up and shoots a bunch of people; he was a loner, antisocial, disgruntled, paranoid. Did they get that from you, or are you aping them?”
Taylor looked at her, bewildered. “I don’t understand what you mean,” he said, adjusting the bridge of his glasses with his finger.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Watkins said, staring deadpan at him. “Aren’t those words simply labels that the authorities use when they don’t care to address the real causes? Can’t you think of something original, Dr.
Similar Books
