SIX: A Novel of Domestic Terrorism by Jerry Johnson by Jerry Johnson - Read Online

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SIX - Jerry Johnson

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Mueller

Prologue

Robert Smithson Journal

Saint Elizabeths Hospital

Washington, D.C.

Saturday, July 1, 2017 11:30 AM

It's time for me to escape from St. Elizabeths, the forensic mental hospital here in Washington, D.C. I've been in here about ten years, since the FBI arrested me, claiming that I was trying to bring down the George Bush government, and I was found by the court to be criminally insane.

Now the new administration is again attempting to defeat the Muslim extremists by putting boots on the ground in the Middle East - and we don't need another war where U.S. troops are put at risk just because the current President thinks he can do what the previous three administrations failed to accomplish. Not to mention that every Muslim would again think of us as just another invading army, and that they would not care that we were only trying to eliminate the radicals in their midst.

So I have to get out of this high class funny farm, and go after President Pence and Vice President Marco Rubio.

For those of you that have been trapped on a desert island for the last six months, you may not have heard about how President Trump was forced to resign after the Russians and Wikileaks released the tape of then President Trump literally in bed with the Russians, after Putin decided that Trump was not going to be blackmailed into looking the other way while Russia took over Ukraine. If you are one of the three people in the country that haven't seen the video from Moscow, just Google Trump hooker tape.

The combination of that tape, and the story that came out about how Trump had borrowed a lot of money from the Russian mob to finance some of his real estate deals, were enough to turn even the most diehard Republicans against him. When those stories came out, just like when Nixon resigned, some of the leaders of Congress went to Trump and told him either he could go voluntarily, or he would be impeached.

So Mike Pence was elevated to the Presidency, and I think he made a pretty good choice in Rubio to be the new Vice President. I would have preferred Lindsey Graham for the VP slot, but Pence was too conservative to choose a liberal Republican like Graham. Both Pence and Marco are smart, know how to work the political system, and I think they are doing a pretty decent job, for the most part, considering that half the country still thinks the last election was rigged.

However, they both seem to think that we can win a ground war in the Middle East against ISIS and the rest of the hate mongers in that part of the world. With ISIS, Assad in Syria, Hezbollah, al-Qaeda, and the other radical Islamic extremists groups around the world it would take more troops than we have in all our armed forces to make a dent in those extremist groups, and fighting another ground war in the Middle East will only exacerbate an already bad situation. The previous wars we fought over there over the last few decades were over oil. But now we have managed, through fracking, to become oil independent. And therefore we no longer need to protect our interests in Middle East oil.

Anytime we put troops on the ground in the Middle East the people there see us as another conquering army, there to take over their country and to try and abolish their religion. We may think we are there for good reasons, but the locals can't see our logic, and every time we bomb or put people on the ground we only fuel their hatred for the United States.

One of President Pence's biggest mistakes, in my humble opinion, was to keep nearly all of Trump's cabinet appointees - all the millionaires and billionaires that Trump thought could help drain the swamp and straighten out the government. So far, since Pence took over, that hasn’t worked out very well. Which is another reason why our diplomatic strategies in the Middle East are floundering, and why the current administration is now considering sending in the Marines, just like we did in Tripoli in 1805. Things were a little different back then - but the current President seems to think he is the reincarnation of Thomas Jefferson.

Pence needs someone to change his mind, and his Middle East strategy, and I know how to make him listen to reason. I've proven in the past that I am willing to kill to make my point, so hopefully once I'm out of here the President will take my suggestions on changing his Middle East policies seriously. If he doesn't change, we may yet need another President.

So it looks like the choice is for me to try and take down another administration, or else convince them of the error of their ways. My dad was killed during the second Bush Iraqi war, and I don’t want to see any other Americans have to suffer like my family did, burying a father who died just to satisfy the ego of the Commander-in-Chief at that time.

For those that don't know my story, I was a PhD student in microbiology at the University of North Carolina when my dad died in a Green Zone car bombing. I used updated versions of Moses' plagues - fire, anthrax, ricin, etc. to try and attack various people in the Bush administration. I have the scientific skills to produce the bugs and toxins I needed to produce havoc, and my dad (who worked for the Defense Intelligence Agency) trained me in other skills like creating false IDs, picking locks, disguises, and using explosives. While I was ultimately unsuccessful in killing Bush or any members of his immediate family, the furor I caused did raise attention to the need to get our troops home, and President Obama did a pretty good job of reducing our troop strength in that combat zone.

And don't blame me for the bad grammar when I call this place, my current home, St. Elizabeths. When Congress named this place in 1916, the staffer that wrote the bill left out the apostrophe - so the official name of the place has stayed as an incorrect spelling marker for all the D.C. school children since that date.

Since the St. Elizabeths forensic hospital side was renovated in 2010, this has really been a pretty decent place to rehabilitate. They added a computer lab at that time, and I was almost immediately placed in charge of that lab, being the smartest person in custody when the lab was installed. I was shortly named the network administrator, as there was no one on staff who had a clue as to how to set up the newly installed system.

Of course, I almost immediately created a virtual system inside the real computer, with me being the only person able to access that virtual system, and in that protected area of the computer is where I'm writing this journal. All our outside internet searches are supposedly monitored, and any email we send or receive using the regular computer system is of course read (and sometimes censored or rejected) by the staff. But I easily found a way around those restrictions using the virtual system, and I can pretty much contact or hear from anyone I want without the guards or shrinks knowing anything about my activities. For example, I've kept in touch with my friend John Hinckley (the man who shot Ronald Reagan) since Hinckley was released in August, 2016.

I have been a model prisoner. I work in the library/computer lab for a few hours in the mornings, helping other inmates with their computer issues, and I have a second job working the cafeteria dinner line in the evenings. I have to attend various group sessions and psych evaluation sessions weekly. I have no problem standing up in our local twelve step type program on Wednesday afternoons and stating to all the newcomers, Hi, I'm Robert Smithson, and I'm a psychopath. I tried to kill George Bush and his daughters because he refused to get us out of the war in Iraq. There is no way I'm ever going to be released, so the only potential options for me getting out of here are in a pine box or by escaping.

Now the time for me to try and escape has come, because I need to be out in the real world if I am going to be able to influence the President's thinking. Thanks to our new president believing that he is a modern day Carl von Clausewitz, he has sealed his fate - unless he is willing to change. So I'm taking my leave of this place. Or as The Animals put in in their 1965 hit single,

We gotta get out of this place!

If it’s the last thing we ever do.

The secret to getting out of here? Onions. I'll explain that later.

Chapter 1

Robert Smithson Journal

Saint Elizabeths Hospital

Washington, D.C.

Sunday, July 2, 2017 11:05 AM

I have been planning my escape for a couple of months. You can't just walk out of the Forensic side of St. Elizabeths. I'm not sure you would want to, anyway, because of the neighborhood where the hospital is located - you would probably be mugged within five minutes of walking out of the place. I know they are renovating the other side of the hospital (the old part) to be the new headquarters for Homeland Security here in Washington. My question is who is going to provide security for the Homeland staffers coming to and from work in this area of town? Not my problem, but an interesting situation to consider.

And once I escape, I need a plan on how to stay out of custody. The FBI will immediately put me back on the ten most wanted list, and pull out all the stops to try and locate me. And Bill Peterson, now with the Secret Service, knows how close I came to killing half of the Bush administration, and Peterson himself. He will be on my tail the minute he hears I'm on the loose. Cameras and facial identification software is now so advanced that if I was to try and take any form of public transportation the feds would know my location in minutes. Getting out of here is really the easy part. Staying out will take more effort.

So it become pretty obvious to me early on in my planning that I was going to need some outside help to abet my escape. My first thought was to get Hinckley to assist with my abrupt departure from this place. But I wasn't sure how much the FBI was still watching him, and I was pretty sure that he would be one of the first suspects they looked at when trying to see who helped me escape. Then I found two other people willing to help me - one to help with my get out of jail free card, and one to help hide me once I was out of the box.

It turns out that my old fiancé, the one I dumped before I started my first terror attacks, still carries a flame for me in her heart. Lisa is now married, and travels a lot for her job as a buyer for an online clothing distributor. I would have thought that she hated me for what I did to her. But when I emailed her, just to apologize for the anguish I caused her when I dumped her, she seemed happy to hear from me. She said she understood why I broke off our engagement back in 2006, that she had long ago forgiven me, and that if I ever needed anything to let her know. Perfect for my needs! I told her where I had stashed cash back during my first terror campaign, and what I needed her to do to help me get out of shrinksville. I asked her to buy me an old used car and a motorcycle (using cash to buy from individuals, where IDs and insurance are not that important), and to transport them to the D.C. area. I wanted the car left in a rental storage garage type facility out in Charlottesville, Virginia, home of the University of Virginia. Charlottesville would be close enough to where I will be in D.C. when I escape to make it easy for me to get there fairly quickly, but far enough to slow down those trailing me. It is also a pretty busy place, with lots of people coming and going at all hours of the day and night. I didn't want to stand out as the only moving vehicle in some very small town. The motorcycle I wanted her to buy in the D.C. area, so that it would not have to be transported over some great distance. I asked her to leave it in the parking lot of the Forest Hill Apartment complex, across the street from the United Medical Center in southeast Washington. I actually plan to make my escape from UMC, the closest hospital to Saint Elizabeths with a competent emergency room operation. A vehicle, even a motorcycle, left in an apartment complex parking lot draws less attention than one in a parking garage, and there is no exit fee when leaving the apartments, as you would find at the parking garage. Even better, my research showed no camera monitoring of the exit lane from the apartment complex!

Lisa has now purchased the two vehicles (from different towns), rented the storage facility in Charlottesville, and dropped the two pieces of transportation where I need them. She had the previous owner of the motorcycle ride it to the apartment complex in Southeast D.C. She met him there and paid for the rice rocket in cash. She left a set of black clothing and a helmet with a full mirror faceplate in the locked saddlebags on the motorcycle, with the saddlebag key and the key to the Kawasaki's engine hidden where hopefully only I can find it. With luck that stuff will still be there when I make my escape. She did this while allegedly on a buying trip for her firm, so if the FBI actually thinks to question her on my escape she will have a good alibi as to where she was and when. She has proof she was in Baltimore a couple of weeks ago with legitimate reasons to be there, but no one who knows her saw her in D.C. or anywhere close to Charlottesville, Saint Elizabeths, The United Medical Center, or the Forest Hill Apartments. She obviously did not use her name when buying the vehicles! And thank God for Uber. With a burner cell phone, you can get picked up and dropped off anywhere, without anyone knowing who you are or what nefarious schemes you are plotting. The cash was no problem. I had received a half million dollars from my Dad's life insurance policy (one million split between myself and my sister), and over time I had turned a good bit of that inheritance into cash, knowing that money in banks would not do me any good after I started my terror campaign. So $25,000 that I had buried in a waterproof box in North Carolina was still available when I needed it, and I told Lisa where to find the box, and to keep the change for her troubles - but not to deposit the leftover cash in her bank account!

And I do have a place to hide after I escape. Are you aware that the FBI says that Florida has more of what they call hate groups than any other state? From the anti-Jewish groups in Miami to the reborn KKK groups in the Florida panhandle, you can find southern crackers in the Sunshine state that hate just about any race, religion, or color of people you can imagine. And to think that I went to school there!

While I was an undergrad student at the University of Florida, one night (after many beers) one of my fraternity brothers admitted that his dad ran one of the Florida domestic terrorist groups. They were from Middleburg, a little town about 45 minutes south of Jacksonville. Apparently the group was rabidly anti-government, and convinced that the black helicopters would be arriving any day to enforce martial law and remove our constitutional rights. Joe said that his dad's group had hidden away enough munitions to fight an army division, up to and including anti-tank rounds. They had stolen the heavy munitions from the Florida Guard's Camp Mabry site, just down the road from Middleburg. When the anticipated attack came, the group members were all prepared to move to their camp site, and dig in to defend themselves. Their camp was a collection of buildings they had put up, disguised as a hunting and fishing camp, on the edge of the Okefenokee Swamp in Georgia. The camp was located just north of the Georgia/Florida state line. Joe may have forgotten that night of drinking, but for some reason it had stuck in my mind - and an isolated cabin in the woods was going to be perfect for my hideout needs. I wasn't sure I believed what he told me about the camp's alleged defensive capabilities, but the idea of privacy seemed like just the ticket.

Joe is now a chemistry professor at the University of Miami. When I emailed him, he was quick to give me permission to use the Okefenokee Swamp camp site. Most of the older generation group that had built the camp are now too advanced in years to get up there on a regular basis, and Joe said that he would pass the word to the rest of the group that the camp was being used for the summer, and for everyone to stay away for the next few months without at least talking to Joe before they went north to the camp. And while he is not as radical as his dad, he was also raised to hate the federal government - and he knows what I'll be preparing while at the camp. He volunteered to help me get the equipment and other resources I'll need to set up my homemade lab at the camp. More on that later. Right now I need to concentrate on finalizing my plan on how to disappear from St. Elizabeths.

Robert Smithson Journal

Saint Elizabeths Hospital

Washington, D.C.

Tuesday, July 4, 2017 9:03 AM

Today is the day I hopefully take my leave of this place. Like I said earlier, onions are the secret to my escape plan. No, bad breath is not enough to get me away from my jailers - but onions are the key.

Most people incorrectly believe that when they contract botulism poisoning from a picnic that is was the mayonnaise that went bad. In fact, in most cases, the problem is with cut onions. Mayonnaise has been treated to stay germ free for some period of time without refrigeration - but onions are highly susceptible to the botulism germ.

Clostridium botulism toxins lead to paralysis and possible death, so all cases of botulism poisoning are treated as medical emergencies. Botulism type B also brings about nausea, vomiting, and the more common botulism symptoms of palsy, paralysis, inability to talk, but without a fever. A fever would be harder to fake, so not needing that symptom helps with my plans.

In my evening job here at the hospital I'm involved with cooking and serving dinner - so it was easy for me to squirrel away a few onions a couple of weeks ago, and after cutting them up I hid them on top of a cabinet in the hospital kitchen. Here I had the perfect environment to grow botulism spores - heat, high humidity, and a food source for the germs. Tonight, for our 4th of July dinner, we are having chili dogs with onions, potato chips, and watermelon. There is even apple pie with ice cream for dessert. I, of course, will be staying away from the chili - I know what I plan to put in there! I'll make sure the onions are added after the chili is heated, so that the heat will not destroy the germs. No one else wants to volunteer to chop up onions, so getting that job will be pretty easy.

What I'm planning is for