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Dance with the Devil: The AIDS Conspiracy


"Too risky you say"? Repeated Jerome, his voice moving up a couple of notches, wiping the perspiration from his pallid face.

"You needed a real live volunteer and regardless of your opinion, I damn well qualify for the experiment. I want to do this not just for you or for me, but for the countless and faceless across this planet, regardless of creed, color or national origin." The worry line became more pronounced on Simon's face.

"I just can't." He said nodding his head. Jerome coughed took a deep breath.

"Suppose I was some homeless one of your ...

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"Too risky you say"? Repeated Jerome, his voice moving up a couple of notches, wiping the perspiration from his pallid face.

"You needed a real live volunteer and regardless of your opinion, I damn well qualify for the experiment. I want to do this not just for you or for me, but for the countless and faceless across this planet, regardless of creed, color or national origin." The worry line became more pronounced on Simon's face.

"I just can't." He said nodding his head. Jerome coughed took a deep breath.

"Suppose I was some homeless one of your disposable minorities which isn't hard to find what would you do"? One way or another you know that volunteers aren't hard to come by." He paused, and then dropped the other shoe moving closer to his colleagues "Remember the Syphilis experiment that happened between 1931 thru 1971? If someone didn't blow the whistle, who knows what we'd be doing today. And remember also the dumping of Ethiopian Jews in Israel saying it was tainted with AIDS. Medical experiments has been going on for centuries partner, we all know that".

Miko was silent, simply looking from one to the other not denying the truths of the moment. Knowing that this pandemic called AIDS could just as easily take them out, just as easily as the reader.

W.G. Hale, Author is Managing Editor of a South Florida newspaper. He has spent more than 15 years tracking and researching the devastating impact of the HIV/AIDS virus globally. He has penned numerous articles on the subject, enlightening the public on the serious of the pandemic. He lives in Miami Florida with his family.

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781425969288
  • Publisher: AuthorHouse
  • Publication date: 7/28/2007
  • Pages: 232
  • Product dimensions: 6.00 (w) x 9.00 (h) x 0.53 (d)

Read an Excerpt

Dance With The Devil
The AIDS Conspiracy
By W. W. G. Hale
Copyright © 2007 W. W. G. Hale
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4259-6928-8

Chapter One
So unique is the human mind, it can justify anything, anywhere, and anytime. In the name of progress, anyone is fair game.

This is the first night of AKARA, the annual ritual of cleansing and rebirth, above, the new moon hung suspended in the cobalt sky, a hair's breath from earth. Just below in the village of Alongo, nestled in the dense Central Africa jungle, the moon cast its ghostly light, a silent witness to an age old ritual. Brutal and inhuman as it seemed, the Gods must be appeased, an age old law kept to ensure the tribe's survival ... Disease is always a threat and a burden, tarnished by life itself. But the soul is perfect and needed to be refreshed for the next life. Udara, the 6.4 reed thin witch doctor, looks more like a living ghost standing immobile, half of him partially in the shadows, the other half in the warm yellow light of the full moon. Around his thin neck, and reaching past his protruding knee cap, he wears a Boa Constrictor, slithering across his frail and emaciated frame, its mottled skin blending into the multi-colored ceremonial loincloth made from the skin of another dead boa. Udara's glassy eyes seem liquid as if reflecting the pain and anguish of what is to come.

His wrinkled face tightened, revealing a hollow cavity of dark rancid space once occupied by teeth. In his age old heart, he knows that before the night is through some of the villagers, even relatives, will not see another sunrise in this lifetime. With painful and measured arthritic steps, he walks slowly to a freshly dug pit, some 12 feet deep and about 20 feet wide and watches as the dead and dying are carted off and thrown into the pit. A slow mournful chant, almost a whisper, rises up from the gathering of village members, oblivious to the groans and agony of the sick. From behind the witch doctor appears four powerfully built male villagers, dressed only in loincloths, placing two bamboo poles across the pit.

As they back away, four village elders dressed in similar snake skin loincloth, begins their ritual walk around the pit chanting and sprinkling sandalwood around the edges.

Once they completed a single round, the elders stop their chanting. A moment of silence, then Udara raised his hands in the air breaking the silence with a high shrilly chant. Immediately, two young naked virgins, who couldn't be more than twelve or thirteen years old, appeared. Their taunt supple ebony colored skin glistens in the moonlight from palm oil and sweat. Nervously, they take their place at opposite ends of the poles, accepting the fate of the night. Still their eyes showed cold fear, because they know all too well that one of them might not see the light of the oncoming dawn. According the ritual, a virgin has to be sacrificed this night, along with the condemned. The Gods would decide who would be sacrificed.

Udara reaches for a palm oil torch, lighted it, and places it in the wet earth at his feet. The reddish yellow glow flickered into the night, casting its dancing shadows in the glow.

From a distance it seems like an old time movie, a ghoulish spectacle to the ritual of human sacrifice. Another command and the two virgins steps nervously onto the poles, bending and flexing under the weight. The two unfortunate naked virgins looks like trapeze high wire walkers, focusing all their attention on getting a feel of the bamboo poles, instinctively looking for critical balance at the their center of gravity. Had the scene not been so macabre, it would look like a late night circus performance. The difference here though, there is no safety net ... one slip and a painful and agonizing end would come. This night bore witness to an age old ritual steeped in superstition. The poles bent and rolled a bit as the girls edges their way across the chasm. The difficulty is incalculable, because the young women could barely see the poles, and had to depend on their sense of balance, and "feel".

The taller of the two maiden reaches the center, "the proverbial point of no return", as the second one begins her walk from the opposite end. A soft chant rises like a cloud from the villagers, the mixture of an ancient song proclaiming the dual worlds of life and death, soft enough as not to arouse the night spirits, and at the same time to help them on their perilous journey, punctuated only by the pitiful moaning sounds of the dying villagers squirming about in the pitch black cavern of death. The two girls are now drenched in nervous perspiration, each step a fragile link to life, or an agonizing death ... A misstep by the taller of the two, a faltering moment, she loses her balance and pitched headlong screaming into the pit.

The chanting raises a few octaves as she tries vainly to reach up to the pole to escape the clawing, clinging hands of the dying. A hand reaches out sinking its gnarled fingers into her upper leg, bursting a vein. Blood spurts like an open faucet. The unfortunate maiden let loose a blood chilling scream begging for life. The chanting stops. In desperation, she raises her frightened eyes looking pleadingly at the witch doctor. Their eyes met for a second, then he raises his hands high in the air, and in a coarse crackling voice that seemed to take every effort from his skeletal frame chanted, "Spirit of AKARA, take unto thy bosom the souls of our brothers and sisters, make them well again in the land of MESH. Cleanse them and return them to us." A cold crawling silence hovered, as the witch doctor holds the torch high in the air. The next instant he drops the torch right onto the struggling maiden. Her well oiled skin burst into red and blue flames, and seconds later the entire pit is engulfed in flames growing stronger and more intense by the second as the flames found more fuel in the squirming bodies of human flesh and high octane body fluids.

Although the acrid smell and stench of burning flesh is overpowering, the villagers all stands transfixed, passive, staring hypnotically at the gruesome spectacle. The flames and smoke flicker higher, reaching into the sky of the first day of the Winter Solstice.

Udara is puzzled. This cleansing ritual is becoming different. There are too many young people dying from a strange new disease. Somehow it seemed to suddenly appear when the white missionaries from Europe and America came to help their villages. Not only is his village afflicted, but many others for hundreds of square miles.

He is frightened for his people and the future seems to be going up in flames just like tonight's ritual. For the last twenty years he served as the "Huen" or head witch doctor for several villages across a region covering over a thousand square miles and one hundred witch doctors. Every year more young people add to the gruesome list of the sick, the dead and the dying. There are even some villages where only the very young and very old are left alive.

This disease that is slowly eating away at the population of the African Continent came to be known as AIDS. Back in 2002, the President the United States of America and the European Union put up over $100 million to fight (or contain) HIV/AIDS pandemic. In 2006, the estimated death toll for Africa alone is around 100 million souls.

Ten times more money is needed to address the problem, and it is spreading fast. Perhaps the description of Armageddon is wrong.

Chapter Two
"Human life shall forever be expendable in the eyes of the ambitious"

South Florida Regional Medical Center is a sprawling world renowned complex, a city within a city covering an area of about some 90 acres of land, 20 different buildings, and employs over 4,000 people including medical students, researchers, and residents. There are four cafeterias, two banks, a supermarket, three top fast food facilities; an organic and natural restaurant, a (chapel) a weekly newspaper, TV station and an operational budget much bigger than many developing nations. Dr. Abraham Glitzman described it this way; "If we had a cemetery, we could easily live, work, play, die and be buried here."

SFMRC is the world's largest State of the Art Research Center for numerous diseases, such as, Cancer, Strokes, Renal/Kidney, Neurology, Hypertension, Pulmonary Diseases and others. The most important and heavily funded department operating autonomously is the self contained M7, nestled among a dozen or so Royal Palms, facing a twenty foot circular fish pond, decorated with water lilies and a number of exotic water borne flowers. Just off to the side, facing the sunrise is a Japanese Rock Garden. As water flow over rocks of varying size, shape and distances, it produced a beautiful orchestration, a sweet and hypnotic melody. It is the kind of place where the spirit could seep into tranquility, escaping the hustle and bustle of daily life and the stress and strain of doing the right thing, of attempting to fix the varying conditions of our fragile mortality ... right in the middle of cosmopolitan life. To the side of this oasis is a bamboo sign that reads:

All Things repeats itself But if you listen closely All is different and unique

The three story building, called M7, is the darling of the complex, and the envy of the medical industry. It has a virtual blank check, and an equally important mission.

Amidst pomp, pageantry and promise, M7 is charged with the responsibility of finding the "silver bullet" for HIV/AIDS. The nerve center is the bottom floor, where a race against time is in progress. It is generally believed that we could easily have another Plague, (equal or worst to the one that decimated 14th century Europe).

In addition, the USA could be the biggest target, particularly after the 9/11 disaster and the War in Iraq. Biological warfare is a distinct possibility, and the cure for AIDS could play a significant role in saving lives, and property. M7 is purposely set up away from the other buildings, so that you couldn't simply happen there. You had to be going there. Surveillance and security is also a major concern, because most of the highly specialized diagnostic and one of a kind system computer equipment. In addition, the research and development of numerous diseases that takes place in this top secret building is exclusive and highly experimental. The facility is neatly fitted into 2,500 square of squeaky clean space.

The top floor is a soundproof board room that is swept twice a day for electronic listening devices, as well as before and after every meeting. Every attendee is thoroughly checked and swept before entering. No exceptions. The second floor is the amphitheatre and media center. Quite unlike the rest of the facility that is closed, this is where the theater of politics and propaganda takes place. The propaganda machinery is sheer visual excitement, designed to manipulate the mind of the media who in turn manipulate the mind of the masses.

Along the walls hung larger than life sepia toned photographs of some of the most recognized icons of American media, such as' Randolph Hearst, William Paley, David Sarnoff , Walter Cronkite, Bernard Shaw, Theodore " Ted" Turner, Connie Chung, the late Howard K. Smith, Jessica Savage, and Peter Jennings, Ed Bradley and others. One giant portrait stood out from the rest, not because it is bigger, but because it is the deeply lined smiling face of the "Saint of Calcutta". Her presence after more than twenty years of her passing still brought out the best in everyone who had the opportunity of gazing at this timeless and soul stirring mural.

It is Mother Teresa, and beside her is Princess Diana touching the hand of a small shriveled up Indian girl dying from AIDS. Mother Teresa founded her mission at 54-A Lower Circular Road, Calcutta, India right in the midst of militant Hindu quarters just a few steps away from the temple dedicated to Kali, the goddess with her blood thirsty image who is the city's patron deity. It is called the Place of the Immaculate Heart, founded in 1952, long before "HIV/AIDS" came along. It would strike a global nerve, and become a symbol of hope for AIDS sufferers across the entire subcontinent, as well as across the length and breath of the planet.

That single mural served a myriad of purposes, from attracting funding and large donations to softening up the media to plead their cause.

The images of the three, the gilded princess who died tragically and under questionable circumstances, Mother Teresa and the helpless child, all served to produce powerful and all-persuasive images. The picture is completed at floor level, adorned in the costume of a CSN headquarters, a sprawling reception area, fit for royalties, and the powers of a world system, encircling the globe, thanks to the World Tech Center of the Americas, a half a mile from the American Airlines Arena in downtown Miami ...

August 5th is the big day, carefully chosen for the media event, because it represented a time when the moods are lighter; the days are longer, and since most people are spending more time outdoors, a better frame of mind came quite naturally. Today, media and medicine would be like an international choir, singing praises under the skillful orchestration of Anthony Steele- Director of M7, the consummate politician. His medical credentials are great, but his ambitions even greater. This is no more than a step for him to move up the corporate ladder of the medical pyramid. He is sensitive to the Hippocratic Code, but the code, any code, had to suit his game. Although he is in his mid fifties, Steele, with closely cropped salt and pepper hair; kept his 5.11 frame remarkably trim and fit from a lifetime of exercise, especially tennis.

He pays much attention to his manner of dress, always neat and well coordinated nothing out of place. Steele placed a high premium on vanity, but you couldn't tell because he trains himself and his gray eyes to appear sympathetic and accommodating.

He watches with growing excitement as the audience swells, some of them admiring the giant murals running along the 40 foot wall. A portion of the wall highlighted population densities around the world, such as Africa, the countless islands dotting the map, India, South and Central America. Running across the top are video clips of past and present world leaders, such as, Haille Sellassie, Mahatma Gandhi, Idi Amin, Nelson Mandela, Mother Theresa, Winston Churchill, John and Robert Kennedy and others. As the clips runs, a Dart Vader type voice filtered through speakers strategically placed around the amphitheatre.

"For the world to maintain balance and feed itself, we have to stem the tide of population growth, and if possible reverse the trend. History must have taught us something. For example, where there's great population densities, diseases break out, civil unrest is evident, chaos creeps in, society and organization breaks down, and if we're not careful, anarchy becomes the order of the day."

He is carefully reading the expressions on numerous faces, to get a feel of the audience, the reaction and impact of the carefully crafted visuals. Steele is looking for a sort of Orwell's 1984, Big Brother subliminal impression. "The power of suggestion through visuals is a power tool," he thought, gives the individual the false notion that they arrived at their own conclusion under their own intellect and reasoning. Casually, he takes out a pad, and noted two countries with his Parker Pen.... Hattie Island and Entopia. As the final scene of the DVD ends, he rises slowly and takes two measured steps to the podium. A polite tap to capture the attention of his audience, while clearing his throat, giving himself the chance to take the final pulse of the gathering. "You get one chance to make a first impression," he smiled to himself.

Just behind him is what Steele described as his "Dream Team." Simon Templeton, the brilliant Harvard/ Colombia Genetic Engineer, graduated at the top of his class at both institutions, and went on to write several papers on Genetics & Disease which are published in both the New England Journal of Medicine and its English counterpart Lancet.

Steele is acutely aware of the full spectrum of the power of the New England Medical Journal. The journal is both power and prestige. Throughout its history, the knowledge and care it takes in its reporting and the extraordinary lengths to check information, engendered great faith within the hollowed halls of science and medicine. Every Thursday, well over 1/4 million copies, are read religiously by the majority of half a million American doctors as well as several thousands of their colleagues in foreign countries.


Excerpted from Dance With The Devil by W. W. G. Hale Copyright © 2007 by W. W. G. Hale. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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