Sedition (A Political Conspiracy Book 1) by Tom Abrahams Page A

rationally.”
    Davidson frowned.
    “We have watched silently,” continued the knight, “as administration after administration has thumbed its nose at the foundations of our society. It’s either a secret CIA torture program okayed by a vice president or a taxpayer bailout of an automotive industry too bloated to wipe itself after a bowel movement. We have been fleeced. The Patriot Act stole a little bit of our privacy,” Sir Spencer preached. “Then we take our eye off the ball and learn the so-called JV team, ISIS, is beheading infidels and posting videos on the Internet. North Korea goes unchecked. Syria crossed a flaccid line in the sand. Iran is minutes away from acquiring a nuclear bomb. The only way to save this nation and our world is to act swiftly and decisively. If that act calls for violence, so be it.”
    Davidson shook his head. “I don’t see it.”
    “You don’t see what?” Sir Spencer’s tone was condescending. “You don’t see that the children of this nation are strapped with a debt so deep they’ll never recover? The middle class is disappearing, Bill. Our borders are a joke. Our deficit exceeds the gross domestic product. The Federal Reserve is driving us into stagflation. It is only a matter of time before states begin to go belly up and the feds step in to save them as they did banks and the auto industry. The sovereignty of the states is a natural disaster or a fuel shortage away from disappearing. What is there not to see, Bill? Both political parties have failed us.”
    “You keep saying we, us and ours , Sir Spencer,” Davidson remarked. “ You aren’t an American.”
    “You are right, Bill, I am not an American citizen. But I was born here, I own homes here. I am a citizen of the world. And the world needs a strong United States to lead it.” Sir Spencer stood and walked slowly over to Davidson as he talked. He was pointing his finger at him. “What do you politicians like to call it? The shining city on a hill? Something like that?”
    “I will hear you out, George,” Davidson offered, “but I am not complicit in this yet.”
    “I still want to know how we’re gonna get the explosives,” Ings said, easing the mounting tension in the room. The others laughed with the drunk before Sir Spencer answered his question.
    “I have enough,” he informed them, and the room quieted. “I have roughly twenty-eight kilograms of Semtex, which converts to about sixty pounds.”
    “Where did you get it?” Ings asked through a burp.
    “Let’s just say that the French are very generous.”
    Sir Spencer was tipping his hand to Davidson. It was known in intelligence circles that the French had long used a decommissioned facility to store Semtex. The storage house was a nineteenth-century fort at Corbas near Lyon. In July 2008, a thief had stolen sixty-one pounds of Semtex and packages of detonators. After the break-in, the French admitted they’d left the fort unguarded.
    Davidson’s eyes grew wide. He pointed at Sir Spencer. “ You stole it from Lyon.”
    “The issue,” Edwards said, taking the floor, “is that we face a couple of obstacles. The first is access. How do we put the Semtex where it needs to be? Our plan is to use five pounds. It should be more than enough. But certainly, getting it into the right place is the primary concern.”
    Thistlewood, who had been quiet until that point, cut in. “Maybe not,” he said. “I think I can help get the Semtex into the right place.”
    “Really?” Sir Spencer turned to Thistlewood and slapped the professor on his knee. “How so?”
    “George, you say the explosive doesn’t have a smell?” Thistlewood asked. “I mean, we could hide it and security wouldn’t find it?”
    Edwards nodded.
    Thistlewood swallowed and cleared his throat. “I have a friend who may have access to President Foreman’s casket.”
    “If it were hidden in the lining of the casket, it would be undetected,” Edwards said, almost breathless with