The Giza Death Star Revisited: A New Steemit Novel Chapter 47
The Giza Death Star Revisited: A Novel Based on the Work of Joseph P. Farrell
This left the matter of a certain little troublemaker and her friends. In fact, poor Carrie really came late to the game and was not to blame ultimately. But there was no proof Bormann’s arch-enemy (a label he wore proudly) Dr. Giuseppe Faro was behind the shenanigans at Dulce. It could be a purely Apache affair, but in any case, the responsible parties would not go unpunished even if all the damned souls of Nazis had to be summoned to storm the Pearly Gates of Heaven.
Müller and Edda landed in Albuquerque and made their way to the reservation. He was loud and charming, charismatic and funny. Edda just had to smile a lot, which was hard enough. You see, Müller was the worst kind of Nazi: he was likable. Like George H.W. Bush, he was engaging and humorous, disarming, hard to dislike personally and yet the blackest of hearts throbbed in his icy breast.
He and Edda met with various representatives from the reservations and local governments. They listened intently to their concerns, and Edda’s seriousness and officiousness played brilliantly as she recorded all their desires and concerns. Finally they scored a morning TV appearance in Albuquerque.
Mr. Silva pulled the car up to the studio entrance and got deliberately out of the driver’s seat. He cheerfully opened the rear door for Müller and Edda to step out, and stood with his chest puffed out and a smile beaming on his face. When they had entered the building, he returned to his seat.
He reached between the seat and console, slipped out an iPad and began flipping through darkly erotic kinbaku photos from Japan.
One-by-one he slid his finger across each picture pausing for a second or two with a detached and academic gaze on each before advancing to the next. As he swiped the final pic, an obviously disparate image slid into place, the only supposed photo they had of Carrie Tsosie. It was a few years old, of the only girl at Window Rock High that had blue in her hair. It had been copied from their yearbook. He frowned slightly and placed it face down on the passenger seat.
“So what is it that brings you two wonderful young people to the Four Corners region?” asked the hostess already knowing the answer.
Müller chortled. “Well, we aren’t so young, I’m afraid, but thank you for the complement. Yes, we are here to set up ‘The Four Corners of Education.’ It will have a mission to advance secondary education among Native peoples, as well as provide counseling services to young people in need. We also hope to promote Native culture and artists within the communities—painters, writers, musicians, and so on.”
Müller knew how pencil-necked educators, bureaucrats, and sociology types were easily duped by stupidly facile faux-snappy names like “The Four Corners of Education” and cultural Marxist lingo like "Native" as opposed to "American Indian." He was certain they’d fall all over it and drool on their shirts.
“Oh! That’s wonderful!” fawned the hostess. The world needs more people like you,” she added crinkling her cute little nose and without a shred of irony.
“Well,” began Müller, “we would like to announce for the first time on your show a big kick off event in Gallup. It will be attended by all the best people. We’re going to hold a New Year’s Eve concert to raise awareness and money for the program for the Navajos, Hopis, Apaches, Ute, Zunis and various other tribes around the Four Corners region.
“We want to feature, to play up, the local groups along with one or two celebrity acts we have lined up. We’re hoping this will solicit big donations for college scholarships, career training, and counselling services.”
“Oh! That’s simply spectacular. Who are the big names?”
“Welllll, for example, we are in talks with Cher to act as Mistress of Ceremonies. She’s part Native, you know.”
“Oh! If you can bring Cher out of retirement that would be fabulous!”
“Rihanna and Jay Z have expressed interest in the event, along with Blackfire.”
Blackfire, the Navajo punk band. The man had done his homework.
“Oh my God! That would be awesome! Do the young people still that? ‘Awesome?’” She giggled.
“We’ve also identified a few bands here in Albuquerque at UNM and a couple on the Navajo Reservation we would like to promote. They are still relatively unknown but we think one of them is every bit as good as Blackfire. We’re still scouting acts.”
“Ohhh. It’s so wonderful you’re offering young people this chance. I don’t know what to say. We’ll be right back after this short message with our next guest.”
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