The world is immersed in a realm of events where reality is more dramatic than fiction. We can only speculate about what drives the reckless characters in this loathsome epic that unravels before us. It is difficult to conceive of how individuals can rationalize moral and legal violations of the highest order.
This is the first installment in a series that envisages the dark tragedy of those machinations. It is written in a genre that attempts to shed light where it is needed; contemporary historical fiction.
The descriptions herein attempt to give fabric to the events hidden from our eyes and amplify words kept from our ears, by portraying some of the players who propel the degradation we witness.
Any resemblance of the individuals depicted in this tale to actual people is fully intentional. Artistic license has been taken in this abridged account that can only give an imagined glimpse into the world behind the malfeasance that is unfolding. Readers may be aware of the omission of copious additional offenses.
Dr. Francis T. Fraudley was a narrow-minded and most peculiar man. For decades, he had succeeded at feigning that he was grand, noble, and brilliant. It was only a matter of time before the world would know that he held none of these virtues.
Fraudley did everything to disguise his true self, stature, and conflicting missions. His ongoing work in making healthcare and pharmaceutical industries very profitable directly conflicted with the mandate of his government job; ensuring the well-being of everyone in the country.
As head of the U.S. Government’s National Institute For Preventing Disease, he was responsible for stopping widespread infection, so they never became a public health crisis. His ineffectiveness in this realm was hardly apparent because he had been an expert at keeping his failures away from public debate. This had started to change.
Although Fraudley claimed to be protecting the health of the nation, he wielded his power without concern for anyone but himself; he embodied a cold-hearted, mechanistic institution.
Fraudley had advised seven presidents. He also directed billions of dollars in medical research. Among those grants was one for funding a laboratory where new viruses were developed and studied, including variants of the most recent strains of flu that had spread around the globe.
No one but Fraudley knew the extent of his connections and commitments, particularly to military endeavors. There was increasing speculation that he was involved with covert funding for experiments in bio-warfare and was consulted on PSYOPS that reinforced vaccine mandates. It was apparent that he had allies at Defense Intelligence; to what degree they were involved in his nefarious dark schemes was his biggest secret.
Although feigning unshakeable confidence and unquestionable insight through many presidential administrations, Fraudley’s insecurity was apparent. His repeated need to demand trust was an absolute confirmation of the implausibility of his words.
The painful restraints of Fraudley’s diminutive consciousness and the ensuing lack of circulation to his head accounted for his limited ability to accept ideas from anyone but himself.
Like other self-promoters, Fraudley surrounded himself with people who claimed he was indispensable; all making sure he never faced criticism. Those who disagreed with his scientific perspective were severely punished with ex-communication from their field of practice. His proclivity for funding research that supported his circumscribed perspective reinforced his worldview.
Fraudley’s insistence on developing important policies without foundation compensated for his lack of creative abilities. Yet because he was supposed to be the most knowledgeable and respected man in the realm of infectious disease prevention, he was able to make unfounded decisions and change his mind without anyone defying him.
He was either admired greatly by colleagues who benefitted from his policies or despised by those who recognized his megalomania. Most who knew him well kept their distance unless they were summoned. And there were few who would dare contradict him, because of the political clout he had accumulated over many years in Washington.
Fraudley’s lifelong attempt to make up for his narrowmindedness accounted for the increasing amount of nonsensical words and dangerous decisions that emanated from his tight little mouth. As an unprecedented crisis rose up around him, the absurdity of his babble was only exceeded by the pretense of his expertise.
It was almost as if his pointed nose grew with each lie. And with this, his beady eyes and protuberant ears gave him a deranged, rodent-like appearance. Indeed, by exacerbating the severity and duration of every plague that had spread around the globe in the last forty years, Fraudley had something in common with a rat; although this insult is unfair to rodents, as the damage they do is unintentional.
Many liars fool themselves, however, Fraudley knew he was unscrupulous, and void of any morals. Because of this, he had outlasted and outdone everyone in the Capital city, where shamelessness was endemic. His lofty role in protecting the health of the nation was preposterous.
Despite his great flaws and sharp claws, one thing was agreed upon by all; Fraudley had understood better than anyone how to extract power and wealth from Washington’s bloated bureaucracy; for himself and others.
He faced imminent retirement with smug satisfaction, although his problems were just beginning.
Fraudley’s bantam physique and small-mindedness accounted for his need to work in an extremely large office with an enormous desk. The bespectacled octogenarian sat with an oversize cell phone in hand, with a wall full of huge photos of himself with powerful players in government and industry. He very much needed to remind himself of his friends in high places.
As the de facto most powerful medical official in the U.S. Government, Fraudley had the polished false confidence in his voice turned up to maximum while speaking with one of the few people he considered a superior. He was plotting with an important ally; the most powerful drug dealer on the planet.
Ted Skimmer was the CEO of Pfakir Pharma, the manufacturer of painkillers, uppers, downers, and anti-psychotics; and most importantly to Fraudley, a gargantuan supplier of vaccines to the world.
Skimmer was a master salesman with a creaseless face that never betrayed the stream of pretense emanating from his mouth. This, combined with an innocent puppy dog look and an unshakable calm demeanor, allowed him to con anyone.
In great contrast to his outward persona, Skimmer was responsible for supervising the greatest distribution efforts of the most dangerous and ineffective product ever marketed to mankind. The genius of the universal sales campaign, which simply repeated the lie, safe and effective, was his clever idea.
Although Skimmer had depended heavily on Fraudley for this most recent success in vaccine sales, there were dozens of other henchmen that also did his bidding. But Fraudley remained his loyal, willing puppet who ensured the government went along with his ruse.
Skimmer applied his expertise in feigned concern, “Francis, I’m a little worried about you. It seems like you’re taking some heat. Are you going to keep clear of trouble?”
The two racketeers had dealt with oversight problems before, but behind the smug confidence in their conversation, there was a new hint of doubt. Fraudley’s go-to position was always finding blame with anyone but himself, a flaw that would lead to his demise.
“Thanks Ted, I’m fine. Our primary fact-checker friend has gotten lazy; I think he’s forgotten his mission. He and his pals were supposed to shut down the static — they were doing okay for a while. But I’m not happy either.”
“I know you’ll take care of this Francis. Remind him he has powerful people behind him.”
“Don’t worry Ted, Mr. Silk Suits is all about cash. And he knows if he fails, he will never eat caviar again. I’ll put the pressure on.”
Skimmer presses on with what he really cares about, “And what about this Federal case where they got a hold of your emails? I’m sure we don’t have a paper trail. But what’s this messy talk about freedom of speech? I read about your deposition.”
“I’m taking the soft approach so far, it’s all deniable. But I’ll get the big guns out if they keep attacking. My people will be playing golf with the judges involved, they’re lined up to shut it down.”
“Good, I’ll leave it to you. Do whatever it takes to turn this inconvenience around. Remind everyone, particularly that nasty Senator, that just because he once was a doctor, it doesn’t make him an expert on research. If you need my help there, let me know. Everyone has a price for cooperating.”
Fraudley ends the conversation with a smirk on his face as if he just had a bite of lemon. “I will, there’s no problem, thanks Ted, goodbye.”
Myron Banks, impeccably dressed, departed his office, smiling confidently to himself as dusk fell over Washington. Never had his work been so satisfying and well-compensated. He bounded down the steps of a weathered brick building only a few blocks from the White House.
The tall, dynamic, dashing executive director of the Center for Ultimate Truth, had worked his way up through the influential, back offices of Congress. Banks was a spin doctor extraordinaire; if he couldn’t shape information to the liking of his political bosses, he could make up stories that the press and public swallowed whole without blinking. He was a master at manipulating the internet and social media to work for or against any cause.
Banks was still riding on the past success of his report that had been readily embraced by the news media, Corrupt and Cancelled, designed to quash all dissenters against the government’s pandemic policies. It centered on a list targeting and discrediting the powerful influencers in the movement.
Pfakir’s pfandemic, as Myron liked to call it among trusted friends, made him a rich man. And to the delight of his discreet funders, which included Ted Skimmer of Pfakir Pharma, most of the people and organizations he targeted had lost their social media presence. More importantly, these same individuals were disdained and unable to present their cases to mainstream media.
Like many in his line of work, he had no conscience; so there was nothing he was unwilling to say or do to satisfy the needs of those who paid him. And all Myron really wanted was money to fund his insatiable need to look smart, eat well, and impress the small group of people who believed he was brilliant.
However, the impact of his work was fading. Corrupt and Cancelled used the tired selling points of Pfakir to cast disdain on its targets. The report was a thinly disguised hit piece that had become meaningless in light of the detailed revelations about the ineffectiveness and dangers of vaccines. Although most mainstream news media remained set on pro-vaccine cruise control and hadn’t changed their coverage, they had stopped mentioning the report. He was hopeful that his funders hadn’t noticed, and still believed he remained their golden boy.
As he turned at the bottom of the steps, Myron decided to head to his favorite nearby restaurant, when he heard the sound of a horn behind him. He looked back as his name was called from the rear window of a black limousine.
“Hey, Myron,” said Fraudley, shouting from the back seat.
Myron turned back, looked up and down the street, then slowly walked over and peered into the half-open window.
“I didn’t think you would take the chance of being seen here with me, Dr. Fraudley.”
“Don’t think Myron, just get the hell in.”
Myron climbed into the limo, and before he could close the door completely, it sped away.
Nightfall begins to shroud the city and the National Mall is empty. Myron and Fraudley sit on a park bench with the Lincoln Memorial looming in the distance.
Myron is pleading, “You said we were doing fine and there wasn’t a problem.”
“Just shut up and listen,” Fraudley commands impatiently, “These troublemakers are only getting more powerful. It was your job to make sure they were demeaned and marginalized, and what’s happening now? Half the country believes that the latest vaccines aren’t safe or effective, and these clowns keep flooding the internet, hawking their books, and having conventions, rallies, and planning to reverse all the gains we’ve made.”
Fraudley pauses as he realizes how dangerous his predicament is; Myron defends himself further.
“We’re doing everything you asked. We support the Honest News Initiative, and keep reminding the networks of everyone who you say is a source of disinformation. I’m constantly giving interviews to top reporters with the main talking points: they are in it for the money, they don’t know the facts, and they are conspiracy theorists. Every time they come up with a new angle, we shoot them down and the press follows. I’ve been following your instructions, Dr. Fraudley.”
They both stare out at the Memorial without considering the significance of their conspiratorial conversation within its glow. Fraudley’s mind is on how he can save himself; Myron continues to spin his predicament.
“The information is working against us. I can only do so much when the studies were falsified, damaging emails become public, and even your friends at the Disease Force admit the vaccines don’t stop transmission.”
Fraudley hadn’t been listening to Myron and continues where he left off, “And when they get banned from one media platform they just pop up on another. I can only get the White House to do so much with social media. You were supposed to get the press to make sure these guys were silenced. This is on you.”
Myron meekly defends himself, “It doesn’t help when there are news reports of unaccountable deaths and athletes are dropping like flies.”
Fraudley is irate. His rodent eyes blink and squint as he points a sharp finger at Myron, poking him in the chest.
“So you think you’ve got excuses. Then tell me why I’m catching hell. There are lawsuits where I’m being deposed and have to claim I don’t recall, like a mafioso. There’s a book about me that describes the color of my underwear. And now I have to go to another hearing on the Hill to answer more questions about my lab in China. This was not supposed to happen!”
With money always on his mind, Banks injects a thought. “I realize there are issues the Center isn’t covering. But we don’t have enough resources to put out every fire.”
Fraudley, squinting his eyes and baring his teeth, hisses as he continues his rant. “What the hell have you been doing? You make shit up with slick fancy charts and pretty pictures and just hope that it will work. Well, the troublemakers you were supposed to silence are getting louder. And you and your lists of the disinformers are being ignored.”
Myron slouches slightly, knowing this is not just an evaluation. “So what do you want me to do?”
“This anti-vax crap has to finally come to an end. And what you’re going to do is not send out glossy pages or smile at sexy news reporters, but make sure the leaders of this group don’t have any place to make their case — or seem like heroes.”
“And how am I going to do that?”
“First, you will plant some stories that are released as bombshells, then turn out to be fake. They will all go for the bait and look like fools.”
Myrons eyes have widened, as Fraudley has never been so overtly poisonous.
“Then, you’re going to spread dirt on every one of them. And not just that they are providing misinformation to the public about vaccines. You’re going to get personal and throw enough heavy mud until it sticks. You’ll set up social media accounts that report that they are philandering, taking bribes, and abusing children. You’ll make them so busy defending their high-minded honor, they won’t have time to think about vaccines.”
Done with his rant, Fraudley stands up and says, “you better launch this plan yesterday, and god help you if it doesn’t fly.”
Fraudley briskly walks off towards his waiting limo, leaving a stunned Myron on the bench, considering his new marching orders. He gazes upon the distant monument to Lincoln, a president who governed the country through a civil war; although to him it’s just a building.
Myron has no recognition of his own role in fueling a constitutional crisis. Unsure of where to go, he decides he should have a delicious dinner.
Read Part Two — The Defamation
Thank you so much.