here were ninety-seven Washington, D.C.-area businessmen ahead of Gorgon on Interstate 22, and the way they were clogging up the freeway, Gorgon's chauffeur-driven Rolls stretch limousine had to creep slowly, inch-by-inch, from 7:10 AM to 8:02 AM, on its way to his office.
Gorgon used the time, though, as he sat in the limousine. He faxed profile updates to two political campaign managers, one for the senatorial candidate in California, the other for the state congressional candidate in Oklahoma. He read his overnight email on his wireless laptop, set up on the small fold-out desk in the Mercedes, replying to six of the thirty-two messages.
He phoned ahead to his headquarters to tell Stan to review his morning presentation to make sure all the video and sound clips were working properly. He spoke by phone to the seventy-four year old senator from Arkansas who had just been indicted for rape of a thirteen year old girl, assuring the good senator that his re-election was a sure thing--since Gorgon had now decided to handle the senator's campaign himself.
He read the front page of the Wall Street Journal, then scanned page 34, an article on psychological profiling in political-military wargames--an article he had written. He called Angela, his mistress, ordering her to wear the low-cut, blue velvet cocktail dress to Senator Grabney's party they were attending that evening. He phoned long-distance to Bombay and spoke to the Indian Army Chief of Staff, laying out plans for the mind control experiment he would conduct on a contingent of Indian Army officer recruits.
By the time Dr. Lyman Gorgon reached the Parallax Corporation headquarters buildings in New Reston, Virginia, he had completed what to other businessmen would have been a full day's work.
He was a man who let nothing--a gridlocked freeway or the necessity of ordering someone's murder--deter him from his goal: gaining total psychological control over as much of the world's population as possible.
Dr. Lyman S. Gorgon's impeccable taste in stylish Italian suits, his neatly styled salt-and-pepper-gray hair, silk shirts, ties with blazing patterns or subdued half-tones, put him into GQ or Esquire about every other year. At six feet two inches and one hundred ninety pounds, he made a very distinguished impression--especially on ladies. His dark black eyes set in a lean, angular face seemed to penetrate whomever he spoke to. To most this felt uncomfortable. His air-blown hair was somewhat long on the sides and in the back, framing his face. His Vandyke beard, with a vertical gray streak, gave him an air of mystery.
The October Playboy article on Dr. Lyman S. Gorgon had been entitled: "The Shrink with the Svengali Touch." Gorgon disliked the reference to Svengali because he seldom used hypnosis. He knew people called him Svengali--behind his back--because his middle initial was S, standing for Schiff, a family name on his mother's side.
Gorgon was meeting with Warren Warfield, an American trillionaire, whose family had been in oil, banking, war materiel--and crooked politics--for five generations.
One of Warfield's advisors had asked for the meeting, but Gorgon had made it clear, through his executive secretary, that he would only meet with Warren Warfield himself, no one else.
The huge oval conference table in the executive meeting room could seat up to twenty people. The paintings on two of the three facing walls were part of Gorgon's private collection of Dalis and Picassos.
Today there would be only two people at the meeting. A red phone and a console at the front were the only things on the table. The table had been made in Tennessee from a giant cedar tree, polished to a mirror shine. Gorgon had instructed his assistant to seat Warfield in the middle of the conference table, some distance from his chair at the head of the table. At the front of the dimly lit room was a huge overhead display screen.
Warfield was a sturdy middle-aged man of medium-height who dressed in the standard black pin-stripe banker's suit. His only signature was the bright ruby red ties he had imported from France.
Gorgon walked into the room, noted that Warfield was seated at the proper location, shook hands with Warfield indifferently, then took his seat in the large, comfortable cushioned chair.
The console in front of him on the table contained a computer keyboard and various controls. Gorgon pushed a key and a color photo of Warfield's palatial country estate in Connecticut was displayed on the huge screen overhead.
"Mr. Warfield," Gorgon began abruptly, looking up at the screen, his back to him, "My study of your background has convinced me that you might be able to see the value of the venture I'm about to review with you. We're meeting privately so that anything we say in this room can be denied by both of us."
Gorgon turned only halfway toward Warfield, not looking at him, and shoved a sealed envelope toward him. "Keep this in your pocket until later when I tell you to open it." Warfield let the envelope remain on the table
Gorgon turned back toward the screen as it displayed a 
picture of the Warfield corporate headquarters in Manhattan. The theme song for Warfield's New York City bank's television commercial was heard in the background.
Gorgon spoke facing the screen. "Your family's fortune - about thirty-seven trillion - has been made by the usual kind of strategies: destroying competitors through cut-throat tactics, buying whatever politicians suit your purposes, aligning yourselves with other wealthy families to form a coalition to put your puppets into the U.S. presidency--since Kennedy. You essentially rule the United States and you're cabal is now intent on amassing wealth and power through unending war throughout the world.
"You own--or control--most of the world's oil reserves. You triggered the first Gulf War, then set up the 9/11 attack to scare the American people and your enemies into compliance with your police state policies. Of the one hundred billion dollar a year American illegal drug trafficking, you control over ninety percent. You also control over seventy percent of the five hundred billion dollar a year world-wide drug trade. The usual combination of semi-legal and criminal activities."
Warfield burst from his chair, knocking it over, his rage at the breaking point. "Your tone and your slander are intolerable!" he shouted. "I'll not waste any more of my time."
He began to move toward the door. He had never experienced a crisis in his life--if you didn't count his daughter's suicide last year or his brother's assassination--which he didn't. His oval face seldom showed any emotion. It was often said that he had been born without feelings.
That was not entirely true. At age fifteen he had had a torrid sexual affair with the daughter of a servant at the Warfield private summer home on Saranac Lake in upper New York state. His father had discovered the affair, fired the servant, and had beaten Warren to within an inch of his life and left him in the boat house for two days without food, water or medical care. The only thing his father said was: "Never with peons."
No emotions had ever troubled Warren Warfield since that time. His birth into the Warfield family protected him from petty difficulties with money or friends or fawning lovers from good families.
"You may want to consider your actions carefully, Mr. Warfield," Gorgon said. "If you were more discerning, you would have noted that my tone was completely neutral." Gorgon was still speaking to the screen.
Warfield stopped as he was about to exit the room and turned to listen. He remembered the words of his advisors: "This man has powers that we must have; he's beaten us in every recent election we've gone up against him. We can't fix every election; we've got to have his voter profiling expertise to win the others."
Gorgon continued. "I don't give a damn that your family's as crooked as the Rockefellers or the British royals. I just want you to know that I'm not impressed--as you seem to be--with your wealth. I have sufficient assets not to have to kiss anybody's ass. But I don't have the kind of fortune your family does. I'm the first in my family to begin building an empire; I just achieved billionaire status this year. In this venture we'll both be involved in activities that wouldn't sit well with your Anglican priest."
"I came here today," Warfield said through gritted teeth, "because my advisors told me that you have interesting powers that we might be able to use, and . . . "
Gorgon interrupted him, turning to face Warfield for the first time. "No, Mr. Warfield, my powers--as you call them--are not for you or any of your cronies to use. I use these powers when and as I decide to--without any interference from anyone. I really don't give a damn if you stay or go. I have other candidates that can be equally useful to me. So decide if you want to hear what I have to say or not. Any more moral self-righteousness on your part, and I'll cut off this meeting immediately."
Warfield slowly returned to his chair. "I'll listen--and then decide."
"You'll listen, you'll respond, then I'll decide," Gorgon replied sharply, turning to look at Warfield in the eyes. Gorgon then turned back toward the screen in the front of the room. "I'm first going to show you how my systems work, then I'll explain my strategic plan. Then we'll talk."
The huge screen at the front of the executive conference room displayed the ancient image of Ivan Pavlov in his 1930's laboratory. In the background was the faint sound of Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto.
"In the long evolution of developing procedures to control human behavior, it all came to a head in the modern world with Pavlov, a Russian scientist." Gorgon turned on a laser pin-light and pointed it at the figure on the huge screen in front of the room. The display on the screen showed Pavlov in his lab working with dogs, his assistants surrounding him.
"Pavlov made the discovery that you can condition a dog to salivate on command simply by 
associating food with the ringing of a bell. Once that association is fixed in the dog's mind, the food can be removed and the dog will salivate merely when it hears the bell. That was a brilliant piece of science. Pavlov carried out the identical experiments on human beings and found that it worked exactly the same. We've taken those same principles into television and motion pictures and can now make Americans salivate in response to a wide array of bells and whistles. I call it, phase one in the evolution of human behavior control."
"Phase two was accomplished by the same brilliant Russian genius, Pavlov. Very few people know of this part of his research. During a particularly severe storm in Russia, heavy rains continued for days and Pavlov's laboratories were flooded. Pavlov and his research assistants were able to return to the laboratory only after the flood waters had receded days later. Upon returning, Pavlov discovered that something truly remarkable had happened. Before the flood, many of the dogs had been conditioned to respond to various stimuli. Lo and behold, all traces of the conditioning in the dogs had disappeared! Bells, food, nothing could induce the former salivation response that had been so carefully implanted in the dogs' nervous systems."
Warfield fidgeted in his chair. This guy must think I'm an idiot, lecturing me this way.
"What mysterious influence could account for this remarkable turn of events? Pavlov wondered. So, being a good scientist, he studied carefully what had transpired while he was away from the dogs. They had been left without food or warmth. They had been isolated for days; some of them had drowned. They had been placed in extreme conditions of stress, never knowing if they would live or die. These were the factors that had produced the washing away of the previous conditioning from the dogs' brains - brain-washing.
"Pavlov and other Russians followed up this line of research, but it was the Chinese communists in the 1950s who first saw its real potential for use with human beings."
On the huge screen a picture of a North Korean prisoner of war camp was displayed. "They employed these very principles in brainwashing American and other Allied prisoners of war during the Korean conflict. Isolation, periodic denial of food or water, cold and exposure, extreme stress associated with uncertainty of life or death. These conditions, together with a continual barrage of indoctrination produced the erasing of previous beliefs and behavior patterns in American soldiers in particular. Brainwashing--phase two in the evolution of human behavior control."
Yada, yada, yada. So enough of this psychological bull, Warfield thought to himself.
"But brainwashing is not very reliable, as the original version of the remarkable film, The Manchurian Candidate, shows," Gorgon continued. "The screen displayed a poster of the movie with the music score in the background. "The trigger mechanisms can be tampered with, sometimes even erased, before the desired behavior can be carried out. We only use these procedures now for programming our special foreign assassins. Neither classic Pavlovian conditioning nor brainwashing can produce the general results we desire: absolute control of the human agent."
The man's insane, Warfield though to himself.
"Phase three occurs at Stanford University in the 1960s," Gorgon continued, "with a scientist named William Colby." A color picture of the Stanford University campus appeared on the screen. 
In the background could be heard the faint sound of Sinatra singing 'That Old Black Magic.'
"Colby was a psychiatrist working on government grants attempting to solve a problem outlined by the Department of Defense, controlling human behavior. Colby learned how to capture the belief systems of his psychiatric patients. He then put these belief systems into computer programs. He refined his research until he was able to capture a patient's personality structure in the computer and then used this computer model to control the patient's behavior.
"Unfortunately, as happens with so many brilliant scientists, Colby went off on a tangent, putting his models into a format called natural language. But the essence of Colby's experiments remained: a computer system could capture the structure of a human's mind and then be used to control that person." Gorgon spoke with force to emphasize the words.
"It was on the basis of that almost unknown third phase that I have created the fourth--and final--phase! I call it the Gorgon phase in Human Behavior Control."
A color video image of the Parallax logo, a Medusa head with writhing snakes for hair, appeared on the screen and in the background, the dim rhythmic tones of "Dance of the Marionettes."
"Improving on the ideas of Pavlov and Colby--and throwing in a bit of Huxley--I have developed new procedures to capture the personality structure of humans, create computer models of their personality structures, and then use the models to control their behavior. It's this fourth phase that you will witness today."
Warfield interrupted before Gorgon could continue. "Could I perhaps get something to drink, coffee, tea?"
Not turning to look at Warfield, Gorgon pushed a button on the telephone console. "Julie, bring Mr. Warfield some coffee."
An attractive young black woman quietly entered the room and served Warfield coffee, avoiding any disruption of Gorgon's presentation.
Gorgon continued by pushing a button on the computer console in front of him. A video tape was displayed on the screen. It showed Wally Globus, an NFL guard, missing a block in the recent SuperBowl game and the Los Angeles Lions quarterback being sacked and injured. The sounds of the gridiron pulsed loudly from the speakers, then all was silence.
"Mr. Globus has been a most interesting experiment in mind control the last two years. He's helped to realize a nice profit of about forty-two point three million dollars for myself and my associates--just as an experiment." Gorgon turned to look at Warfield. "You've no doubt heard of the so-called NFL scandal, with Wally shooting his mouth off."
"Yes, he's making quite a stir, naming you as the culprit on the Larry King show." Warfield enjoyed mentioning this.
"My attorneys have not filed suit against either Mr. Globus or CNN for those slanderous accusations because the press exposure is just what I want. Globus can't prove that I manipulated him and the SuperBowl, but it's an enticing prospect for a lot of people that someone could be so brilliant as to carry that off. My advertising, public relations, and political-campaigning ventures have sky-rocketed since Wally's TV appearance. And I've agreed to go on a talk show in several weeks to discuss the NFL scandal, as it's called."
"You can't think I'd have anything to do with illegally tampering with sports," Warfield said, clearing his throat.
"Mr. Warfield, you're coming dangerously close to that moral self-righteousness I warned about." Gorgon stared at Warfield. "It may interest you to know that I'm aware that you and your Jewish and Gentile cronies filched one hundred and twenty-seven million dollars out of East Germany after the Soviet Union collapsed. And then looted fifteen billion dollars out of Russia, six billion of it in gold. If you'll get yourself under control again, we'll continue."
Warfield cleared his throat and looked at the screen, avoiding Gorgon's eyes.
"I mention the NFL experiment merely to show you how remarkably foolproof my methods are--even when I have to work with less than superior material. I successfully manipulated a whole team and the outcome of a SuperBowl, the most popular sports spectacle in the world, on which ten billion dollars was bet this year. I could also review my other ventures, successfully manipulating the elections of congressmen and senators and governors, beating all your best political specialists like Wirthlin and Caddell and Rove at their own game. Until finally, your advisors have concluded that you must somehow align yourself with me."
Warfield was growing weary of being lectured at--especially for this period of time. "Dr. Gorgon, I have it on good authority that your techniques are interesting and successful enough for me to be here. Why don't you just get to the bottom line--if there is one."
Gorgon's tone turned icy. "The bottom line is that if I judge today that you're bright enough to understand what I'm telling you and gutsy enough to do what it will take, you might have the opportunity to be a silent partner in my grand scheme."
Gorgon hesitated, then looked intently at Warfield.
"Pay particular attention to the words I just used. I will determine if you're intelligent enough and have the balls to play in this game. If so, you might have the privilege of participating in this venture--as a silent partner. That means you'll put up the money, carry out certain organizing functions, and be apprised of how the project plays out. Bottom line, you'll have no ultimate control over the project--that's in my hands. But you'll receive certain rewards that will more than compensate you for your investment."
Warfield looked inquisitively at Gorgon. "I'm curious just why you chose me, Dr. Gorgon."
"I developed a complete psychological profile on twelve people in your classification--obscenely wealthy, bright, unprincipled people still with some fire in their bellies. You have the distinct advantage of being the heir apparent of David Rockefeller--who can't live much longer--in the Council on Foreign Relations, Trilateral Commission, Bilderberg circles. But you finally came out on top because you possess one trait to a degree no other candidate did: you have no emotional attachment to anyone other than yourself, not even your family. Your complete indifference to your daughter's suicide last year--after she accidentally found out about your depraved life style--tipped the scale in your favor."
"Very interesting," Warfield said, "and now, what would these 'rewards' be that you mention? You must know that your talk of world control sounds like insanity. And I have too little time for the kind of lecture you've just subjected me to . . . "
Gorgon exploded. "Get out!" Gorgon rose abruptly, stalked across the room, and exited by a side door.
Warfield was stunned by such behavior. Never in his life had he been treated like this. He was accustomed to people fawning over him, deferring to his every mood, speaking to him with sycophantic respect. This Gorgon was intolerable. He'd been patient enough to listen to the man's boring discourse on his great methodologies and successes. An insufferable ass! He'd had any number of people killed for much less than this.
Warfield moved over next to the phone on the table and placed a call. "Jim? Yes, I've just met with this Gorgon creature. But I can't stomach his behavior. He's intolerably insolent."
He hesitated to listen for a moment. "Yes, you said that about him. But, Jim, do you and the other advisory group members think he's that important for our plans? Isn't there someone else who could do just as well?"
He listened for a moment. "Yes, I see. He can do that? Uh . . . Well, if he's got that kind of power maybe I'd better listen to what he has to say. It's insufferable that he won't give his pitch to you or one of the others, insisting that I deal with him personally."
He suddenly became incensed again. "Yes, I understand. Yes," he said loudly, making certain his advisor knew who was in charge, "I do get the picture, but I damn well don't like it!"
He noisily slammed the phone back onto its cradle. He gazed at the huge screen at the front of the room displaying the wriggling Medusa head. He placed the phone back to his ear and pushed a button. "Yes, tell Dr. Gorgon I'm ready to continue our discussion."
After six minutes, as Warfield was beginning to wonder if Gorgon would agree to continue, Gorgon walked in through the back door. He closed it quietly and strode to his seat at the front of the large conference table. After seating himself, he looked fiercely at Warfield.
"Your advisors have correctly informed you that I am the only person who can assure your success in gaining the kind of world political power you desire. And though you're only slightly better than some of your peers--for my purposes--I'm going to give you this one last chance. Understood?"
"Yes," Warfield said in a noticeably chastened voice.
"If you're to work effectively on this project I'm outlining, you need background information. What you called my 'lecture' is necessary groundwork; so you understand what we're doing. This isn't one of your inane Wall Street games where you set up a specialist to manipulate your stocks for you. Or even your "rule the world" plan, in which you've schemed to gain control of most of the world's oil--including the Caspian Sea, Iraq, South America, and Saudi Arabia.
This project is bigger than all that. It involves controlling the entire world population--and its resources--based on an understanding of sophisticated psychological and socio-political factors beyond what your business degree from Dartmouth provided. So if this background information is too much for you at any time, just say so. Otherwise, pay attention, make sure you understand what I'm telling you, and ask any questions you need to. This will all be on the quiz." He smiled slightly, lightening the mood.
"Now that you've seen something about the basic methods," Gorgon continued, " next is what I call my Grand Plan." A picture of the Statue of Liberty appeared, with a line drawn through it.
"The problem with you and your moneyed peers is that you're still not in possession of the technology of behavioral control I described. You made a mistake and put in a recalcitrant President who won't follow your orders, and now your power base is in the toilet, The question is, if you're so rich why don't you have permanent control of the world by now? And the answer is that you and your billionaire friends still haven't figured out what real power is. It's what I've got--power to manipulate people to keep them from stringing up you and your cronies. That's what President Randolph figured out--that he could appeal to the people and gain enough power to avoid being your puppet--like Dubya and Obama were.
You made a huge miscalculation with Randolph--and the American people--something which could never have happened if you'd been using my system. You thought you could simply cut off all Social Security benefits--since neither Dubya nor Obama was able to get "private accounts" through Congress. But you underestimated Randolph and the American people. Randolph could see that he'd be impeached if he followed your insane plan--and he was smart enough to appeal to the American people, who took his side in the battle. You pushed Randolph too far--and now he's his own man--and your enemy.
"So you and your group are going to have to change your tactics--and get a better idea of how people can be controlled. But first, you and I are going to create an organization that will bring together a select group of wealthy men and women worldwide. My people have already profiled over two thousand movers and shakers like yourself. You and I will go over that list and decide just who we want in this organization, a conspiracy to take over the whole nation permanently"--Gorgon made a point of emphasizing this word--"beginning with the federal government. Your money by itself can't buy or keep power, you have to control the minds of the people. Therefore you need me, my expertise, to show you what the people are thinking and feeling--and how you can manipulate their public opinion when we take over world political-economic control once and for all.
"Until your fiasco of putting a maverick into the presidency, your group already largely controlled the U.S. presidency, selecting the candidates for both parties and not allowing a third party to form. It controlled Congress, the courts, all the intelligence agencies, the federal reserve system, communications, and used the Mafia when necessary.
And now this Lone Ranger, Randolph, has reinstituted some of the democratic structures that you'd been able to suspend with Bush II and Obama. He's put some of your major players in prison--even Henry Paulson and the Federal Reserve and Wall Street thugs. Now Randolph's got the European Union people behind him, and the non-aligned oil producing coalition. He should be a wake-up call for you and your group.
You've got to begin to think long-term, so you can keep your power once you regain it. You lack fundamental psycho-social knowledge--which I have. You don't know how to control schools so students world-wide are programmed to think what we want them to think--from first grade through graduate school. Carefully designed television programs, movies, magazines, newspapers, and music to keep people so mentally confused and splintered that they could never again form into unified power blocs to challenge our power structure. With the expertise I bring to this enterprise, we will rule, not just lead the world--non-stop. I know that sounds somewhat grandiose, but I assure you, it's doable. Let me ask you a question. Haven't you and your group acknowledged you made a huge mistake?"
Warfield looked at Gorgon, trying to get a reading of him. "Sure, we've talked about this--lots of times. But we've never quite been able to figure out what went wrong. Karl Rove ran George W. like a marionette--even put a speaker in his ear so they could feed him precisely what to say. But Karl assured us that Randolph was our man--that he'd play ball. When Randolph turned on us, we certainly got rid of Karl in a hurry!
"Okay, so you realize you don't have the technology you need for fool-proof world domination. My system is one hundred percent failure-proof. I've run computer simulations to prove that my techniques can be used to gain permanent world domination. All through the use of the mind control principles I explained to you. Every problem turned into an opportunity for us.
I know your four biggest enemy groups are Randolph and his progressive backers; the British and Dutch royal families and the billions they control; the newly-formed alliance between China, Russia, India, Venezuela, and Brazil; and the European Union and its dread Euro. I'm going to show you how you can destroy them all and take over the world--for all time."
Gorgon paused, looking at Warfield. "What about some lunch? Talking about power is a great appetite enhancer."
Warfield looked at his gold Cartier watch, then at Gorgon. He had appointments, but he didn't want to miss this opportunity. "That's fine. I didn't know how long we'd be, so I'll have to cancel some appointments."
"Okay," Gorgon said quickly. He walked toward the door. "I'll be back in a minute. Oh, by the way, when you speak to Jim Littleton, tell him I said hi."
Warfield phoned his secretary and told her to cancel his afternoon appointments. He picked up the envelope from the table and put it in his inside suit jacket pocket as his secretary connected him to Jim Littleton's number. "Jim, I think things are going a little better now . . . "
Jim interrupted. "Did Dr. Gorgon say anything about me?"
Warfield was puzzled. "He said to tell you hi."
"Littleton now spoke with the voice of a robot. "Mr. Warfield," he said," do whatever Dr. Gorgon tells you to."
Warfield heard a gigantic explosion on the other end of the line. "Jim! Jim!" he shouted. He heard a commotion, people rushing into Jim's office, no doubt. After several minutes, Littleton's secretary picked up the phone.
"Oh my God," she exclaimed, "Mr. Littleton has just fired a revolver at his own head. We think it was a blank. But all the same, he's unconscious and he has powder burns all over his temple. At this moment, he's in an ambulance on the way to All Saints hospital. We just hope this is all right with you."
"Yes, Wanda, see that he gets whatever he needs."
"Yes sir."
As Gorgon's limousine traveled to his favorite restaurant, the Ivy League, Warfield asked. "You already know what happened, don't you?"
Warfield was visibly shaken. He now realized the extent of Gorgon's power and he was truly frightened.
"Yes," Gorgon said matter-of-factly. "I want you to understand that my mind control resources are already in place in your organization and throughout the world."
Warfield was silent for a few moments as the limousine continued on. "We've been trying to figure out what went wrong with Randolph for some time."
"You've been fighting among yourselves for generations, never pooling your resources to take permanent control of the world. And you've relied on people with flawed knowledge--like Karl Rove and Jim Baker--as to how to control people. By now an intelligent group of wealthy, powerful people should have taken complete, permanent control of the political-economic power structures world-wide.
Your Council on Foreign Relations, your Trilateral Commission, and your Bilderberg organizations are laughable. You had everything going your way with Bush II and Obama: 9/11, the Patriot Act, stealing the 2000, 2004, and 2008 presidential elections, your conquest of Afghanistan and Iraq. If you hadn't made a mistake on your last presidential candidate, by now you'd be getting away with everything! Just as long as the world's population doesn't rise up against you." He smiled. "Once we regain total control of the U.S. presidency, there's no reason to allow even the semblance of democracy you allowed in America under Bush II and Obama."
Warfield looked at Gorgon inquisitively. "Even before the Randolph fiasco, we tried a number of strategies. Our power coalitions wouldn't hold together. We control a U.S. president for a term or two, but then some other group backs a different candidate. Even when we get a power group formed, someone breaks ranks whenever it's to their benefit. My own brother was assassinated by a rival power faction. I don't know if you knew that, it's not common knowledge."
"I know pretty much everything about you. I know how you and your group planned and executed 9/11 and why you believe, incorrectly, that you can continue to steal elections into the foreseeable future. I know that you don't know how to control the large power groups worldwide--both inside your own cabal and outside it. I even know how your brother was murdered while he was dallying with his mistress in
Manhattan."
Warfield looked inquisitively at Gorgon. He'd been trying for years to find out who had killed his brother. Did this man have the information? And how could he possibly know of his cabal's complicity in 9/11 or the stealing of the elections? Warfield felt that for Gorgon to even mention these vast criminal acts was monstrous on his part. His rage surfaced again.
Gorgon continued, mocking Warfield's anger that he could see on his face. "The new ingredient you need is what I provide: knowledge of how to control people. You and your group have to keep in mind that you actually lost the last two presidential elections. Your voting machine scam, your election fraud schemes in general, and your ownership of the major media outlets had to pull you out of the fire. The majority of Americans who voted against you in the last two presidential elections, under Randolph's leadership, are beginning to rise up against you--demanding fair elections and taking back control of the media. That's your current problem. And only I have the arcane knowledge of how to profile people and control their behavior absolutely."
Warfield glanced quickly at Gorgon. "That could give you the ultimate power, couldn't it?" As soon as he'd said it, he wondered if it was too harsh.
"That's correct. Does that bother you?"
"Well, it raises the question of trust," Warfield said.
"If our own personal interests are inescapably tied to the success of this Grand Scheme, we can trust each other. And mine are. I don't mind telling you that my ultimate goal in all this is to prove that I can dominate the world's population through my techniques of mind control. If your personal interests are tied to the objectives of the Council--taking permanent control of world financial and political structures--then I can trust you. It's as simple as that." Gorgon's smile was almost a sneer.
"How are the American people going to react to all this?" Warfield asked.
"There have been two interestingly different visions of socio-political domination: Orwell's 1984 and, less well known, Huxley's Brave New World. Everyone worries about 1984, worries that the government--or a group of people controlling the government--will create a police state. Burn books, put dissidents into prison, take away civil liberties, the knock on your door at midnight. Orwell's nightmare. My methods follow both Orwell and Huxley: create a world police state without the people being aware of it and make them love their slavery. Use their desire for mindless ease and entertainment to create an invisible police state.
"People are basically lazy; they don't want to think. They're much too selfish and greedy and stupid to ever become well-informed citizens. Americans are the least-informed people in the world. TV and movies destroy people's ability to think about complex political or economic issues. They don't even want to think about such things. I give them a beautiful Medusa head casting a spell of mindless pleasure and sexual fantasy--and turn the people into idiotic stone. With my system, we'll begin to dictate to the people what reality is--they'll believe whatever we tell them. We'll create politicians who promise people whatever they want, delivering nothing. Our puppets will be in power throughout the world, following our orders, and we'll run the world. Simple."
"People have been trying to manipulate elections and citizen behavior for decades," Warfield said emphatically. "We've got theorists who can explain some of what goes on. But every election comes up with unexpected factors. I know, I've spent millions on experts claiming to know how to get a candidate elected and how to get the people to do what you want them to. Sometimes they succeed, sometimes they fail. And they don't really know why they failed--or succeeded. It's too complex, they say."
Gorgon spoke quickly. "I've been manipulating elections and controlling human behavior for the past twenty-one years. Controlling elections by profiling the voters scientifically to know just what a candidate has to say and do to get elected. I've been quiet about it, because that's the Huxleyian way. But my methods are not the hit-or-miss foolishness you describe. My methods work one hundred percent of the time because I know how to control the human personality. It's not theory, it's proven fact. That's what your advisors have been telling you. I made my successes known to them. It was there all the time, staring them in the face. But they thought I was one of those advertising-public-relations-political-campaign-manager types--like Richard Wirthlin, Pat Caddell, or Karl Rove--that hits a lucky streak for a time and then begins to fail. Someone with a theory but not enough science."
I hope I can keep all this straight. I'm hearing more from this guy than I've heard from my staff in a lifetime, Warfield thought to himself.
They entered the expensive, fashionably- decorated restaurant, and the maitre-d' showed them to Gorgon's special dining area. After they had ordered and were enjoying Gorgon's favorite Pierre Jenaux wine, Gorgon continued.
"Membership in this new organization will be by invitation only. We'll give each prospect some project to carry out to prove his or her value to the organization." Gorgon paused. "We'll call it the World Geopolitical Council, a new world order."
Warfield glanced at Gorgon, then spoke somewhat hesitantly. "What exactly will--uh, would--be my role in all this?"
Gorgon inwardly applauded himself for having cowed this supposed invincible power-broker and supposed world-ruler. "Your name and connections will give the Council the right kind of ambiance. And, of course, we'll need the use of a good deal of your money to establish the organization."
"But suppose people don't want to join, maybe I won't be able to persuade them. David Rockefeller's influence is still very strong in these circles you refer to."
Gorgon looked sternly at Warfield. "You've got to stop thinking like that. We'll go after just the people we want. With the profile we'll have on each person you'll be able to manipulate them. You'll know just what to say and how to say it. We'll approach them the way I did you. Not by asking them if they want to join--that would give them the impression we need them. You'll tell them exactly this, that they're being given the privilege of having the opportunity to apply for membership in the Council.
"Notice the precise wording. They're being given the privilege; this is a valuable thing--an opportunity. They're being given the opportunity to apply for membership; this Council is so important that people have to apply to be accepted into membership. All of which gives the clear message that this is an exclusive, highly-desirable club with only the most important people being allowed to enter."
"What about security?" Warfield asked. "What if someone leaks to the press that a new organization is trying to take over the world?"
"Two strategies, both of which you'll have a major part in. First, I expect the owners of all the major national newspapers, newsmagazines, television, radio, and print media to be members of the Council. We'll make certain we have all means of communication under our control. If any fool tries to talk about a group trying to take over the United States, we'll make him appear like a blithering idiot, a rabid conspiracy fruitcake.
"Second, we'll have a personal dossier on each crucial member of the Council, containing compromising information about them. And if need be, we won't hesitate to take a troublesome person out, Mafia-style. To prove that we mean business."
After they had finished their meal, the limousine drove them back to the Parallax Corporation headquarters. They returned to the executive meeting room. As soon as they were seated, Gorgon pushed a button on the console and
the face of a middle-aged man appeared on the huge screen. In the background, the presidential march played softly.
"President Randolph," Warfield said.
"Yes, another of your group's terrible miscalculations," Gorgon replied. "You and your advisers thought Phillip Randolph was in your pocket--because he made all the right kind of noises. It shows the deplorable state of your group's so-called profiling skills. You thought Randolph would carry out your entire agenda without a hitch--and he's proved to be a maverick. With my knowledge, you would never make such a mistake.
Warfield winced to remember what a nightmare Randolph had turned out to be.
"Within a few months," Gorgon continued, "I'll be meeting with President Randolph and his Re-Election Strategy Council concerning my being appointed campaign manager for the President's re-election. You can see why it wouldn't be advisable for people to know that you and I have met today."
Warfield was impressed. "Very good. What are your chances?"
"I try not to leave things to chance. I have a little something up my sleeve which I think will impress the President--and the Strategy Council. My performance should do the trick."
He paused, then pushed a button on the console. A picture of another man flashed on the immense screen.
"Senator Binkley," Warfield said.
"Yes. Craig Binkley will be our backup quarterback, so to speak. If I'm not in President Randolph's camp, we'll create Binkley as our candidate for the Republican party." Gorgon paused and looked pointedly at Warfield. "You do still have primary control of the Republican party, don't you?"
"Yes," Warfield replied quickly, "we can select whatever man--or woman we want to."
"Good," Gorgon continued, " I've already begun work on Senator Binkley. He's so eager to be president that he'll put up at least seventy million of his own not insignificant fortune for the campaign. We won't make the mistake you did with Clinton--putting in a man who was as crooked as your group, but one who began to carry out his personal agenda once he became president. A huge miscalculation with Clinton--just because Karl Rove and your other psychological profiling dolts thought that an illegitimate Rockefeller son like Clinton could never turn against you. No more mistakes like Clinton or Randolph." Gorgon looked at Warfield. "Our complete control over all future U.S. president will be the permanent step toward world domination."
Gorgon suddenly turned toward Warfield, then beckoned him to move closer. Warfield took a seat closer to Gorgon.
"I want to know your reaction to all this."
"Well, it's overwhelming," Warfield said, smiling. "I never thought in my wildest imagination that you would have something like this to tell me. My advisors told me to think big and consider what you could do for us. But I never guessed."
He looked at Gorgon, realizing that he was not responding to what Gorgon had said. "I, uh, think it's a great plan. I've thought about something like this for a long time, of course not of this scope." He realized from Gorgon's look that he was still not responding appropriately. "I'm excited by this plan. I'd like to be a part of it."
"I'll let you know tomorrow if I agree to have you as a part of the venture. Any last questions?" Gorgon looked at Warfield with an expressionless face.
Warfield squinted his eyes, thinking of what he might ask. Something flashed through his mind and he took a moment to phrase it so it would sound right. "Yes, two questions. First, why don't you run for president? You certainly have the expertise to know what people want to hear." Warfield stopped to wait for Gorgon's reply.
"David Rockefeller is reputed to have said that being the President of the United States would have been a demotion for him. I feel the same way. Presidents get assassinated, they get trashed by the press, they spend their times pressing the flesh of the masses, they are basically public relations whores. The intimate details of their lives are dredged up for every bit of juicy, nasty gossip. I'd much rather be the person who controls the figurehead, a walking-talking- hand-shaking puppet doing whatever we tell him to."
"A second question," Warfield asked quickly, "how can your methods be fool-proof? For example, you must have been--you must be right now--trying to control me to want to be your partner. But I almost walked out on you earlier. What about that?"
Gorgon smiled. "Please take the envelope out of your pocket, open it, and read it aloud."
Warfield removed the envelope from his inside suit coat pocket that Gorgon had given him at the beginning of the meeting. He read aloud what was typed on the sheet of paper inside.
