The People's King - And Giant LAX Donuts Dotting the Bavarian Landscape

(Previous scene is a hot and crazy sex scene, and one full of scandal in the making - and featuring the manipulations of a horny, leather clad, power hungry gold digger, and the world dictator, Richard William Wilcox. I chose to keep Blogspot relatively clean, so be patient and you'll be able to read this sex scene in one of the books, once released. The previous scene is slightly kinky. The scene below comes right after that streamy scene. It is right off the keyboard in raw draft form. Enjoy. Image and text copyrighted and enforced.)

The silent and smooth cruiser travelled the autobahn, and did so automatically. The two cops onboard ate their round, hole in the middle, pastries. Such odd pastries these were, and wasn’t it funny how these sugary snacks invaded Germany from far away America. Shit, there were now friggin’ donut shops on every corner in Germany. And there were even big giant fiberglass donuts, those being fifty feet high, dotting the Bavarian landscape, as if Bavaria was LAX or something. The whole borderless and free trade thing has gotten out of hand, indeed.

“Hey slow down, look at that car. It’s an old Lamborghini Diablo! Holy shit!”

“It sure is. But it looks brand new.”

“Slowly. Slowly. Hey stop, there’s a man in it, and he doesn’t look ok. Pull over right there.”

“Sure.”

The cops got out and carefully approached the Lambo, noting the local plates, and diplomatic markings. They glanced at each other, brows lifted. It was probably yet another drunken politician, royal or diplomat, as has been reported so often lately. The pressures the diplomats must be under these days…

The well dressed man inside the car had both arms on the steering wheel, and his head lowered into them. He was breathing. The cops flashed a light for a better view, sure that they were dealing with someone rather intoxicated. The man slowly lifted his head, guarding his eyes from the glaring light with his cuff linked arm. He squinted and lowered his arm, and then his window.

One cop asked, “You ok? Have you been drinking tonight?”

“Ah, pardon me for stopping here. I know I’m not supposed to, but the rain and visibility. I promise you, I’m not drunk.” Stephan felt embarrassed, and it showed.

“How much have you had to drink?”

“None. I’m on my way to a date. I got somewhat disoriented in a downpour and pulled over.”

“Well, you can’t stop here. This is very dangerous, even with your flashers on. You look kinda’ upset or tired. Are you sure you’re ok to drive on? Because you’ll have to move your car, which by the way, is a great car.”

“Thanks. It’s an antique. It’s my favorite car. I’m alright to drive. The rain has eased up, it seems. I must admit, yes, I was a bit upset. Romance troubles.”

“Just as long as you keep it slower and pay attention to the road, I’ll let you continue. You were really booking it back there a while ago. You shouldn’t drive this kind of car so fast in the rain, especially if you’re having girl troubles. I won’t ticket you, of course. You’ve got diplomatic status. But if you don’t mind, I’ll see your driver’s license and scan your Federation information for record’s sake.”

“No problem.” Stephan took out his eel skin billfold and produced his license, and then presented his forearm for the scan.

The cop looked at Stephan’s license and made a squint: Stephan Prinz von Coburg. He then lowered it, handed it back, and waved off Stephan’s forearm. Stephan withdrew his arm back into the car, out of the rain, and redid his cuff link. He was used to this kind of thing, and could predict what will happen next.

“Oh, excuse us for disturbing you, Your Royal Highness! We didn’t recognize you at first.”

Stephan managed a smile, “No problem, officers. It happens all the time, the way I drive.”

All three men chuckled, and one cop said, “Well, try to put a check on that driving of yours. We’ve heard all about it. Accidents and death does not recognize diplomatic status like we do.”

The other cop ventured then, smiling broadly, “Yeah, Your Highness, we want to keep you around. Don’t go crashing this Lambo on us, and killing yourself. The people of Europe need you. We should really call you Your Majesty. As an Oath Keeper, I support your monarchy. You won that general referendum. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the King of your country. I’m just a cop and not a lawyer, but know that you were within your constitution on that vote, and did gain full status as the sovereign. I support the national constitutions of foreign countries…”

The other cop interrupted, “Johannes, careful, will you! Federation monitors! We’re being recorded! Excuse me, Your Majesty.”

Stephan nodded, “Good call. Watch each other’s backs. You must take care of your partner. Enough said, please, about the monarchy. It’s my turn to ask that you stay out of trouble.”

But the monarchy thing did not stop there. Both cops knelt, looked up at Stephan, their rain soaked hats off and over their hearts.

“You are assured of our support, Your Majesty, and we can speak for most of the force.”

Stephan looked on from his Lamborghini, astounded, his jaw dropping. He stammered, “You do? The force too? And you’re calling me Majesty. I, eh, I don’t know what to say. Ah, just be careful. -”

“Sir, you can count on us to back you. You’re the People’s King. Now move your car, please, and slow down.”

The other cop, “Yes. Take it easy with that car of yours. Take care of yourself and live to take your throne in your country. Auf Wiedersehen, Your Majesty.”

“Ciao. Thanks, officers.” Stephan gave the two men a salute, rolled up his window and gave the cops another thing they will remember into ripe old age. The throaty roar of that real honest to God internal combustion engine as it came alive, sucking lots of estate grown ethanol as it did so. He deftly pulled out onto the highway and disappeared into the rain.

Stephan was alone in his Italian Cocoon once again.

“Your Majesty.” Stephan repeated solemnly. It scared him, hearing that, that night. It also encouraged him, knowing he had that kind of support.

“Wow.” Stephan said to himself. “The People’s King…”

That notion sobered him a lot. He turned the car around, and aimed for home, forgetting about Nadia and scandal making for the night. This was no longer a fanciful game at annoying Chairman Wilcox. This is the real shit. Those police officers had just risked their lives, speaking to him as a king.

On his way home, he felt a knot in his throat.

“The People’s King.” He said again.

He wiped a single tear from the corner of his eye.

“My God, I can’t let men like that down. I’ve got get my shit together.” He said in that lone cockpit on that lone highway.

#

Memories of Childhood, Robotic Dreams and Flying Down The Highway

(This is copyrighted. Image and text both. Here is fresh off of creativity some raw rough draft from the Diablo Diaries. Prince Stephan and his PTSD, love life, confusion and robotics.)

Driving along the near empty autobahn in his leather cocoon cabin, hearing his 12 cylinders just behind him, that big engine simply separated from his head by a firewall and thin Italian leather seat, Stephan lost himself in his driving. He focused his mind on the blur of a road in front of him, and it’s rain streaks streaming by, as if he were flying an airplane in rain. The sound system roared with his favorite music, and right now, he was hearing Kathy’s Song. It was a centuries old song, but now, it seemed very timely. Why in the hell did the song kept bringing his mind to the whole robotics thing. Shit.

Prince Stephan was on his way for a hot date with sexy God damned Nadia. She hated his ancient relic Lamborghini, but he could not help himself. This car helped him in many ways, and not just in the wars for information, sly data downloads and jamming world government surveillance - and of course trans dimensional warfare. The car helped him in the obvious way too. It helped with the girls, and it wasn’t about the girls and their reaction to his automotive overt display of riches - It was about himself, and how he felt driving the car. When around the magic and amazing female gender, he needed to feel a bit of his power and great wealth to boost himself along. Fucking billions, mind you. And yet, he felt a bit damaged from what he had experienced years ago, although he kept that to himself. Shit! He liked women! They are special. They’re a fucking hoot, mind you! Complicated, maybe, but great.

And then there was his past experiences, the passion, the false trust, the violation, his own rape by a grown man, the dependence, the love, the fear, the confusion, the early childhood ritual abuse, his utter childhood submission, his world torn down … long before his world started.

Stephan shook off some of his racing thoughts, dropping off the throttle from such distracting rather real visuals. Shit. Pay attention to the road, will you! He pulled his Lamborghini to the shoulder of the highway, breathing hard, sweating and shaking. What the fuck! Why the memories? He cut the motor and just sat there, still hearing the music that triggered him. What the hell is going on in this world of ours? Why are we doing this to ourselves? Come lie next to me. Machine, behold … You and me are one ….

Richard William Wilcox, World Chairman: Turning an Engineer Into Machine

(Here is some more writing fresh out of my imagination, but not before copyrighting it. Here we meet the chairman of the world, Richard William Wilcox, and get hints at his rocky relations with Prince Stephan. Image is also copyrighted.)

He drove his short, and rather desk jockey, finger into the document in front of him, pushing it some over his neo-bedermayer desk, “What in the hell is this?”

Indeed, World Chairman, Richard William Wilcox, was one pissed off world dictator at that moment. Really pissed off.

He leaned over his desk and yelled, “Why in the bloody hell does this report say that there is minimal feedback from Stephan Coburg’s brain?”

“Ah sir, we don’t know exactly why we’re not getting a clear signal from Prince Stephan’s brain inputs. We believe that there is some sort of interference with the signals. We can locate his exact whereabouts most of the time, except for when we see him climb into a certain car. Then we lose all signals. We can only track him visually from our satellites when he’s in that car.” Dr. Embleton answered.

“What? Couldn’t be. Our population matrix survey is failsafe.”

“PMS should be failsafe, sir, but you should see this. Here are the satellite images of him just before getting into that car, and here you see we can read his location, his heartbeat, his blood pressure, but not his thoughts or words. Once in this black car, all signals down.”

Wilcox studied the images, “Nice car. Looks like some sort of Lamborghini or something. Definitely from a different era. Looks like it burns a petroleum product or ethanol. Might as well climb into horse and buggy! Why the fucking relic Lambo?”

“We don’t know. But it apparently showed up on his estate suddenly. We have no satellite images of it arriving on any roads.”

“Stephan must have built it then. A replica perhaps. He's mad about machines, especially race cars, Lambos and Ferraris, and all sorts of other tech too. He certainly builds things, that’s a fact. He’s always been mechanical, that boy.”

Chairman Wilcox sat back into his big minimalist chair, and slowly played with his pen, thinking. He indeed had that famed frown on, but his eyes were still that same look of socially inept and insecure. The doctor noted that, while remaining expressionless.

Suddenly the World Chairman boomed, “God damn it, we got to regain signals on Prince Stephan’s thoughts, and at least record his words. If we can’t monitor his thoughts, I want him brought back in. That son of a bitch is trouble. This is beyond just our personal dealings now. He’s got something brewing, something big.”

“Yessir. My team is on it as we speak. We’re trying to scan any scramble programs and jammers.”

“Good. I’d hate to bring him in, because every time I do that, it’s a scene or it draws too much public attention. That bastard is way too popular. But God dammit, we have to keep that man chipped, monitored and under control!”

“Indeed, Mr. Chairman. We’re trying to figure out how in the hell he managed to block his signals. He has somehow overridden our chips at an atomic level. Almost quantum, actually.”

Wilcox made an odd chortle, and quipped, “Shit, if I knew any better, I’d blame it on some bloody aliens.”

The Doctor made a little smile at the old often repeated joke. For some weird reason, that old joke was still funny.

Chairman Wilcox then said, “What the hell, bring in Prince Stephan. Shit. I wouldn’t mind seeing the boy again. I rather dread the scene he’ll make, and the risk, but I do enjoy seeing him. Care for some tea, doctor?”

The doctor obliged, and looked on as Wilcox buzzed for their tea. The Chairman had a strange little smile, and a look of pleasure in his eyes. It smacked of scandal. The researcher dared not gaze upon the Chairman too much, and shuffled his feet, looking at some garish award on the wall behind Wilcox.

“Perhaps we can make some new modifications to the Prince. We got some new generation bio-metrics and brain implants ready to prototype, haven’t we?” Wilcox said, still with that odd smile.

“Indeed we do.”

“Funny thing that he is studying engineering - and we’re on the cusp of turning him damned near into a fucking machine. Isn’t irony perfect. Ah, here is our tea…”

The Practical Application of Reverse Time And The Blue Blooded Engineering Student

The big Bősendorfer piano stopped. Stephan had been playing it along with the stereo, accompanying the music of Bryan Ferry, Zoe Keating, VNV Nation and Metallica. I was rather enjoying it from up in my room, where I was trying to decide if I should play with my Barbies, plastic horses, or Hotwheels. My language lesson lay scattered on the floor amongst the toys – it was unfinished. I was supposed to be listening to my French audio files, and filling in the vocabulary blanks in my study book. My mind was elsewhere. Something was up, and I could sense it. Downstairs, Stephan was antsy.

Why did Stephan stop playing the piano? I got up and looked out my window, and didn’t see signs of him in the garage. I then heard the door ringer go off, and heard the voices of some of his school mates. I sat back at my Barbies, having one of them drive her pink Corvette, pretending that it was a black Lamborghini Diablo 6.0 VT.

Stephan and his school mates moved outdoors, for one wanted to have a smoke. I could hear their voices much better. They stood and talked a while, and I could smell the cigarette. I went to the window and looked out. Below me, there stood Stephan and the two brainy looking guys about his age. Quietly I opened my window just enough to catch some words. Sometimes Stephan got into some interesting conversations, and I loved to evesdrop. This time it wasn’t about race cars, girls or the monarchy.

Stephan asked, “So what do you think of the new breakthrough at Livermore, over in the States?”

“What, you mean the large sustainable wormhole?”

“Yes. What do you think it means? Will we put it to practical use? Time travel for an instance?”

“More than likely we will. We would have to do it through the next generation of computers just coming out – you know the seven tier quantum computer.”

Stephan smiled and leaned a tad into the conversation, “Exciting stuff. You mean the machine that uses the principal of quantum entanglement, right?”

“Yeah.”

“That could also mean more than just time travel, but also travel over great distances through space in short time. I figure it would basically freeze time, so that time doesn’t pass while whatever object traveled light years.”

One student, a blond guy in sweater and cords said, “At the level this thing works, space and time are interchangible. You know, based on the Pythagoran Theorem and imaginary time, real space – or imaginary space, real time. Think of imaginary numbers and how they’re graphed, then plug in four right triangles, you know that. Then apply the equation one over two rooted. Remember roots give off both positive and negative numbers, and those are applied to space or time…”

Stephan listened rather rapt.

“Another bent is to go ahead and plug back in lambda to Special Relativity – lambda is the medium on which entanglement rests. Think of electrons being in simultaneous communication clear across the universe!”

Stephan accepted a cigarette, “Awesome shit. But I don't know how you can use imaginary numbers! I read about it on in a scientific bulletin at school, than hit some websites to find out more on the machine. But really, do you really think they’ll achieve time travel?”

“They have to a limited extent already.”

“You’ve got to be fooling me.”

“With the first generation quantum machines, they did it with the help of lasers. We're at the seventh generation now. Do you remember the Feynman diagrams in class last week?”

“Most certainly. The reverse time diagram.”

“There you have it. Those machines have already done it.”

Stephan looked amazed. He said, “So it’s just a matter of doing it with objects and not photons.”

“And that’s what just happened at Livermore.”

I chilled hearing that, spying on the adults. Time travel and wormholes. They don’t talk about that at school during the science lessons, that’s for sure.

Stephan led the men to his garage, Asking, “What will time travel really mean for society? I must say, time and far space travel will upset the fabric of our civilization … or improve it. Push along evolution … how does one govern human time travel ...”

The words I clearly remember hearing Stephan say will change our lives, and our world, and I knew it even then. He stood at one of his engineering projects, and said, "You guys know that I've put you on my payroll, and you have got a job for life. You signed all the non-disclosure statements and oath to secrecy. You're security clearances are in effect. What I am about to say is for your ears only."

The two student nodded in a dead serious way.

Stephan said solemnly, "The head of the World Federation, Richard Wilcox, already as the technology that can take a man through bent time and space. His people have been using this tech for a long time. I want you two to assist me in developing the same. I have to have this tech. I have to somehow be a match Wilcox and his World regime. It's critical. It's survival for all of us. Now I'm paying you very well, and making you into very wealthy men, and heros if you succeed. I'm stealing the tech, and you'll build the machine."

Their voices faded as they entered the garage. Stephan talked awhile, and then went about showing his guests some of his mechanical projects for his engineering classes.

Wilcox can bend space and time? Really? I tried to fathom that.

Prince Stephan's Lamborghini - A Symbol for Executive Powers

(Here is another bit of writing from the Diablo Diaries, unedited and fresh off the brain. Little Princess Louisa thinking about Prince Stephan and monarchy. A hint at Stephan's terrible childhood experience.)

For an eight year old, I sure knew a lot about how geo-politics worked, and about monarchy. I was alone in Stephan's busy garage, thinking on that, and on my much older brother Stephan.

I turned up the Alpine sound system and replayed that Lynard Skynard song again, third time around. It blasted through the open scissor doors of the car, and filled the garage. It was a famous old song from America about freedom and a bird. I played air guitar and sang to the well memorized lyrics.

I loved sitting in Stephan's ancient Lamborghini, the one he brought back from one of his strange and long journeys. This machine smelled new, and felt just like a showroom car. Funny thing, this car was a 2001 Diablo VT. This was 300 years old! Sometimes Stephan would puzzle me with his machines and gadgets. Where did he find this car? Why did it always seem brand new? Where did he go on those trips?

Stephan had promised to skate with me today, but he's still at work running the estate, doing some homework and reading a bunch of diplomatic papers. I wished Stephan skated with me more often. He was suddenly all grown up. Way too grown up. He was bossy now, and sometimes gave me orders. He was now often in a fine suit and tie, cuff links, and really put on the graces. He simply used to wear jeans, a polo, loofers and perhaps a leather jacket. When out on the town, it had always been a rock and roll T-shirt, black jeans and mod boots - and shades, even at night! He stood rather erect now too. Of course that made him all the more cute - although I preferred his company out on the skate ramp, and not in cuff links.

When he was a teenager, before the pandemic, Stephan built a big skateboard ramp behind our horse barn, setting off protests from Mom that it made the horses nervous. It didn't bother them at all. Hell, now they are skateboard trained! Besides, they got attension from a gaggle of kids now, for my school friends all wanted to come over and skate. They then would feed the horses goodies. My friends thought I was lucky because of the ramp and the horses, and the big estate house I got to live in. I guess I was. But I didn’t get to do all the things my friends did, such as run around freely. I had to learn a lot more than just school stuff. I had political homework too, deportment coaching and foreign language training. I had to finish my schooling before I could go out and skate, rides horses, join my buddies or hang out in the garage with Stephan.

Stephan built a lot of things in his garage. Instead of working on a Political Science degree, as expected of him, he was going for an engineering degree. This upset the family a bit, but Stephan loved machines, and followed his heart. In his garage, he worked on electronic gadgets sometimes, and hacked around on his computers, those being all strung up in series. He did this on the sly, away from the adults of course, and I dug that. I was supposed to keep my mouth shut about that one. I feel privileged as hell to be included in Stephan's odd and genius world. He even taught me how to hack into certain data banks. It was all about finding out what was on record about our home country, and potential monarchy, at the U.S. State Department, the World Federation Foreign Affairs Agency, Russian Security Services and some British foreign relations sites.

And of course, when not plotting, hacking and scheming a kingly homecoming, Stephan modified his cars. He let me in on his car projects, and taught me the monarchy business too, while we worked together on the cars. He told me all about fuels and how cars should go on new fuels that are outside of World Federation control. He told me that the future kingdom will have to go off crop fuels and batteries most certainly, in order to survive economically and politically. This way, the World Federation would be less able to pull the plug and deny a freed people electricity and the resulting transportation. That had to be done soon. That would require strong executive powers on the national level, in order to override the World Federation’s near block on fuels outside their control.

While tinkering on his Lamborghini, Stephan talked a lot about executive powers for a monarch. He always did so in the garage, when no on else is around to hear us. I sensed he was being a rebel when he did so. He mentioned having an active monarchy a lot, not some passive symbolic one.

He would then put his tools away, clean up at the sink at the back of the garage, and have me do the same. Then the real fun started. We would take out the Diablo – and simply raise road mania hell. He then would let lose with his words, once in the car. It was just our ears in that car, that's why. He would spin the tires as he talked about how that kingdom of his will be. Executive powers, baby, all 12-cylinders of it.

"Louisa, little sis', you’ll have to be an executive monarch, an active monarch. You know, exercise some absolute powers on occasion. Don’t be afraid to jab in the throttle, the monarchy will take it fine. It’ll stick. It’ll stick because you will be essential for the nation and the people – for freedom. You’ll maneuver the track like an experienced driver, and plan your line around the corners. You'll be skillful and deft behind the wheel of your nation."

And then he would open the throttle up in the Diablo, explaining the exhilaration of a win, of victory, of liberty … racetrack talk included in our dialog about politics, world affairs and monarchy indeed.

So here I sat alone, in Stephan's Diablo, picturing that - and also thinking on the life he led. Not such an easy life, and one not without it's terror. Prince Stephan had come a long way over the past few years, recovering from what he had been put through. He kept his focus on the future.

Stephan suddenly appeared, his skateboard in hand, in normal jeans, minus the fancy suit.

"Louisa, you're running the battery down on the car!"

I shut the music down. It's time to skate indeed, even if this will be a short session. Stephan had to run back into the house, and back into his office. He indeed had his load of work to do now, now that he won his referendum.

More From The Diablo Diaries - Revolution From a Gulfstream

Queen Helena popped another valium, washing it down with imported water. She thought about how she’ll handle Stephan on this latest escapade. He needs to be reined in. As much as she loved him, she was a very objective woman.

Montenegro's Prime Minister dealt with the situation in his capital, as the incident hit the news, and thousands of people took to the streets to protest the world government. He handled them with gentle gloves, and not his famed heavy hand.

He then took a quite few more shots of vodka.

People indeed took to the streets. Stephan had just made his point. It was effective with the regular people. They applauded his courage. The man has some serious balls, and working people respect that. Next time, He will indeed set foot on his country’s soil - as King.

#

The live coverage continued. I peeled away from Mom’s loving embrace and watched the news report. Shit! Fighter jets! Live weapons! And then Stephan’s friend, a sovereign constitutional monarch, Queen Helena making a short and dignified statement that reassured that everything was fine between the Kingdom of Greece and Montenegro, and that the incident didn’t really involve Greece. It was simply Montenegro's internal affair. Helena, being the brave woman she was, tossed in something for good measure:

“Had there not been a world government and the overruling of the people’s legitimate vote, this incident would not have happened.”

Helena had made her jab at World Chairman Richard William Wilcox, and his world regime.

I admired her guts and dignity, for she had inner resolve. I wanted to grow up and be a queen just like her, and I just knew I would be a monarch like her someday.

Just outside of our estate’s gates, far from Montenegro, a small crowd formed. Some people were holding the flag of the old kingdom, from decades ago. Local cops quietly stood around the gate to assure peace, exchanging puzzled glances at one another, possibly thinking, 'What's with this pro-monarchy protest? We haven't seen monarchy in these parts for a long time.' Of course, those cops were Germans, and Germany hadn't seen a monarchy since 1918, some 390 years ago.

#

Fighter pilots are masters at the great art of fibbing, expanding upon the truth and simply bull shitting.

Our two single-seat, single-engine, single tail Viper drivers hit the officer’s club in high verbal style. The young men strutted into the bar and were immediately surrounded by their fellow pilots with cheers and beers.

The two led their collegues to believe that Stephan was actually on official arrival as a new King, and that he was forced back, and not by orders of the Prime Minister alone, but by the world government.

Bingo! World Government turned around future monarch's arrival to his own nation, even after a popular vote to have him return to Montenegro. That set the room full of pilots off. The smart phones were put to work, the social networks suddenly set ablaze, the word got out within seconds.

While most pilots continued to text, the two intercept pilots spoke of how brave the new King had been, up until he realized that he would defeat his purpose if he were shot down while trying to arrive at his kingdom. The new King decided to turn back for the higher good, which is to win the diplomatic war - and not the lost egotistic battle.

Not far from the truth. But indeed embellished...

The truth was that he simply flew right on through Panslav airspace, including Montenegro.

A legend was born right there in that officer’s club.

The pilots then created a silent pact amongst each other, and among other officers on base, to only obey orders at the national level, and not at the world government level. That agreement then, slowly over time, became silent clidestine practice throughout the militaries of the world.

Stephan had started a revolution, indeed.

He did so from the comfortable cushy cabin of a Gulfstream personal jet - That jet being on long term lease to Queen Helena of the Kingdom of Greece.

It sent ripples globally.

#

Much of What May Be Going on Today is In the Diablo Diaries

This is a big day! Today, you get the first glimpse of some of what's in the Diablo Diaries! I think, with what's going on in the world today, the time is right. So here is the start. Enjoy this peek into my book series.

The clacker went off. The pilots tossed their Doritos and paperbacks overboard, and they hit their start switches. The fighters that sat on the alert pad came to life and immediately taxied for take off before the canopies were down and sealed. They rolled onto the runway without stopping and were already at good speed before even being lined up with the runway. Once lined up they went into full afterburner. The pipes were aflame alright. They left the ground, accelerated in their ground effect, picked up 350 knots, pulled 7.0 gee, went vertical, went inverted at altitude, rolled upright, and made a hard 90 degree bank to take the course to where a certain Gulfstream flew.

Shit.

The nervous young fighter pilots were reluctant, yet obedient. They rather liked their new King, or the guy who should be king. He was a young dude, like them, a few years younger actually – and he was into the same music and ideas as they. Like them, he stood hard for his country. He did macho things, and was noted as quite rowdy. He was always in the tabloids, in the midst of some kind of antic or sexual escapade. It really no longer was scandal, for it was a constant, a given, not the exception. Stephan never hid his little rebellions. Well, here he is now, rebelling in the fullest sense of the word, in some other monarch’s jet.

He’s a crazy mother-fucker. He should have been a fighter pilot.

#

Queen Helena’s Foreign Minister called. She took the call, of course. Her usual serene vibe and facial expression went straight into ire, and then worry.

“Could you please repeat that one?”

“Certainly, Your Majesty, His Highness Prince Stephan has just taken your plane into Montenegro’s Airspace. There are some fighters on their way to intercept him. They are to prevent him from landing.”

“Have you called the Montenegro Foreign Office yet?”

“I will.”

“Please do right away. Try and explain that this certainly does not involve Greece other than I loaned the jet to His Highness. I’ll call the Montnegro Prime Minister.”

She hung up, and out of anger threw a pen down and it bounced off the desk and clattered to the parquet floor. She brought a fist down onto her desk, something she never did. She was the model of calm wisdom. Damn. She’s a fool, getting too involved with a guy like Prince Stephan.

“I’m going to run your balls through this shredder, Stephan! Not just Venice Commission commentaries!” She said.

She got the Montenegro Foreign Minister on. She went right to ironing out the brewing international incident. She was good at that kind of thing.

“I will have you understand that this is not Greece’s doing. We are right now getting in touch with the passenger on board who ordered the jet into your airspace. He’ll cooperate. I believe that he simply wants to over fly Montenegro, Croatia and Serbia. That would be just like him, really, to bend the rules a bit. He’s too intelligent to simply enter the country without proper legitimacy or invitation.”

“His Highness Prince Stephan is not invited yet to return to our country.”

“I’m quite aware of that. If you wouldn’t mind, I am right now dialing my plane. If I reach him, you can personally talk to him and find his intent yourself.”

“Ah, certainly, Your Majesty.” A bit of surprise in the Prime Minister’s voice.

“Let me put the three of us on conference call. I do hope you understand that the real international incident will be his language until he realizes you’re on.”

The Prime Minister laughed.

#

Now onto a very serious note on world affairs:

Here is an essential article that is a must read, about the possible true nature of the the ruling Elite. The links within this article are essential too, but one must use caution, for some links and articles can be PTSD triggering. But I think this information must be made known to the general population as soon as possible, for as I am writing this, there is a major upset going on in the halls of power.

The Greek Prime Minister is stepping down, as well as the Italian Prime Minister. There are protests and riots going on all over the world for various reasons, and money is rapidly shifting, especially in Europe. We may well see a big drop in the value of some currencies, and some Euro-zone nations leaving the Euro and going back to their own original currencies. We have seen Ghadafi killed in the streets by angry mobs, and we have experienced odd earthquakes in places not prone to earthquakes. And that's just the tip of the iceberg.

Most of us that have access to relatively free press and news know of these events. But there are some underlying things are the root of these events. It's got something to do with a global ruling Elite.

There is a kind of global revolution that may be going on right now. I personally believe that there is indeed a revolution going on, and I do hope that it is against the global Elite, those that control the G5 and so much or our food and money supply.

Back in 2005, when I started writing the Diablo Dairies, I had some inside information and a lot of knowledge of the the true nature of big business, monarchy and ruling families. I didn't know everything, and still don't. But back in 2005 and even earlier, I sensed some things, combined that with my knowledge, and wrote about the ruling global Elite. I pointed out back then the nature of a world regime, the tormenting programming that Prince Stephan endures as a child, the planned big nuclear war and the ancient cult that seeks to rule the earth.

The linked article below points out the nature of this cult clearly, and it parallels what I wrote.

It's important reading. Everyone must read, judge for themselves which is real and which is BS in the article, and most importantly, they must share this knowledge. Know that indeed big things are happening right now.

Just remember this one thing. Your freedom, liberty, freedom of consciousness, free will and faith in God are the most important things in the world, and more important than all the wealth and power in the world. Family, community and nation are also important. Hold on to those no matter what.

Indeed, there is a resistance going on against the enemies of liberty. Keep that in mind.

Here is the article: http://www.divinecosmos.com/start-here/davids-blog/975-undergroundbases