Excerpt
Chapter One
There’s No Bomb like the Bomb
Between a Father and His Child




The greatest calamity to befall any boy is to grow to hate his father, for this hate can destroy one’s soul.
—Families by the great Altruistian prophet Aloi’am

Ted’s dreamy slumber was shattered like a large plate glass window from a child’s ball; Ted’s stubby arm swung wildly, smashing the nightstand until the racket of the alarm had been silenced. He was not a morning person, and on that Friday morning, he was particularly not looking forward to his day. Ted moved in a barrel rolled off the oversized bed and jumped to the floor. Even if he had been an average-sized man, he would have had to do this because the bed was nearly four feet off the ground. But it looked even sillier to see Ted do it with his short legs extended to break his fall and his stubby arm out to stabilize his balance. He had always been teased as a child, for as Ted explained it, little people never get respect. Ted hated being called a dwarf and barely tolerated the term little person.
Ted rubbed his sleepy dark green eyes as he clumsily made his way to his large lavatory. It was a beautiful lavatory, but Ted never gave it any thought. When he sloppily threw his pajamas into the gold hamper, which cost more than most people made in a single month; he didn’t even look to see if they had made it in. When Ted’s manservant came in, picked up the clothes, and set out a fresh pair of underwear, Ted didn’t even notice him. Ted stepped into his shower and pushed a single button. Immediately his preset programmable snapped into action—rinsing, spraying with soap, lowering the spray, waiting for Ted to scrub himself with his ivory bush, then rinsing again.
When Ted’s cursory cleaning was through, a soft, seductive voice asked, “Will that be all, sir, or shall I add a few more minutes to help soothe your aching muscles?”
Ted opened one eye to look at the monitor, which displayed the question in text form, and responded with a slight yawn, “Give me another twenty minutes, I’m not done yet.”
The water pressure immediately shot up, and the temperature increased ever so slightly, as Ted continued his rather long and relaxing shower. He followed the shower with dressing himself in his freshly pressed suit and heading downstairs to the small breakfast nook, where he had a full and hearty breakfast. He hated mornings, but he loved his breakfast. Charles, his humble manservant, had prepared his favorite eggs Benedict, toast, and a filet mignon.
Ted ate his breakfast, savoring every bit. He selected hearty portions of food with a silver fork in his left hand and thumbed through the San Francisco Chronicle with his right. Occasionally he would stop and take a sip of his coffee or tea. Ted was going through a phase of trying to decide which he liked better with breakfast: coffee or tea.
He finished off the last of his eggs as he came across a story (“Bee Population Down 15 Percent”) which caught his eye, reminding him of his childhood. Ted ran his thick fingers through the mop of reddish brown hair as images of his summer vacations at his grandparents’ bee farm in upstate New York, the third largest of its kind in New York, ran through his mind. Ted’s cheeks flushed with anger as the bitterness of his father rushed through his mind, like flash floodwaters scuttling through a gorge in the rampage of a monsoon.
Ted’s father was an absentee father to say the least. Ted had grown up an only child of a single mother. Despite having only one parent, he had a seemingly normal childhood. He was close to his grandparents. But Ted had never known his father and really did not even know he had existed until Ted was in his twenties. Ted had finished his associate’s degree and was just starting at the Old Yard of Harvard. His father had never tried to be a part of his family, choosing rather to refuse to accept that Ted was his son. Ted was indignant because of this absence and fearful because of the man’s power. Ted had decided to contact him when he turned thirty years old. He had written several letters and made several calls, all of which had gone unanswered. Finally, Ted got the nerve to meet his father but was turned down when he requested. After threatening to go public with the proof of what his father termed “illegitimately fathering a dwarf son,” Ted’s father finally agreed to meet him.

Ted thought about the day he met his father on the drive into work. He was trying to read the current President’s Daily Brief. But his mind kept running back to that fateful day when Ted had met his father for the first time. Unfortunately, on that day, Ted had made a really bad decision.

Ted had asked for money that day, and his father had quickly offered him one better—power! Ted now had a powerful position that paid more than he had asked for, but in hindsight, he saw his father’s true plan. Ted was now not only expendable to his father but also to the entire Bilderberg Group and whoever else was in control of the society of world leaders. Now his father did not have to pull the trigger. His father could now stand back and ignore everything going on. Because of this, Ted hated his father. He wished he were here right now so he could tell him off in person. There was only one man he wanted to hurt more than his father, and that was his boss, Mr. Davignon. Ted was a little person, but he had a large title to make up for it. He was the head liaison for human development for the Bilderberg Group.

The original Bilderberg conference was held at the Hotel de Bilderberg in the Netherlands in 1954. The meeting was said to be created over concern about the growth of anti-Americanism in Western Europe. The group’s proposed charter was to promote understanding between the cultures of the United States of America and Western Europe. This elite group met annually at luxury hotels or resorts throughout the world—normally in Europe—and once every four years. Unfortunately, the charter was not forthright about its true purpose. Members, in fact, had planned and now did run nearly every country vicariously through different diplomats, who were placed in their respective positions by the Bilderberg Group.