Ski Slope Snow

April 8, 2017

Staying incognito in the beautiful German countryside, Garrett Valdison is at a small inn as the spring ski season winds down. He has begun to notice that most of the inn’s clientele, probably for reasons of privacy, are Globalist functionaries.

He goes out for his usual morning walk, now especially noticing that the steep stone slope just south of the inn suddenly ends with a two-hundred foot drop to the valley floor, a very unusual escarpment. Suddenly he is overtaken with an idea, which quickly floods into his mind as a clear visualization of future events.

April 10, 2017

Garrett knows that cash overcomes many difficulties  He drives into town, opens a bank account using his real name, wires his bank in America for money, and procures a large bundle of Deutschmarks in hand.

April 11, 2017

After an hour of strudel, coffee, and negotiation, Hans Bierman, owner of the inn agrees to a long term lease of the slope and the meadow at the top. He is in full accord about the improvements Garrett proposes to make, a ski lodge with equipment rentals, gift shop, and parking lot.

Hans is delighted that most of the skiers will probably stay at the inn and will definitely take meals with him since Garrett has no plans to build a restaurant. Renewal of the lease will be automatic on an annual basis for as long as Garrett wants it. When he terminates the lease, the agreement will allow Hans to keep the improvements without further adjustment. The modest rent Garrett will pay, of course, reflects this eventual windfall to Hans.

April 12. 2017

Hans calls his attorney to draw up the papers. In the following days, Garrett walks around with a long tape measure, works up cost estimates, and visits construction firms. Hans goes with him to help speed things along.

May 10, 2017

Garrett has the property in hand, and contacts the decided-upon construction firm.

May 14, 2017

The work begins. Snow machines, towers, and lifts are to be built in the standard way, except that Garrett is adamant in wanting a network of heating wire mesh covering the entire ski area four feet off the ground, so that thick ice buildup can be eliminated. He states,

“When the heat is turned on, the density of the ledge will easy allow water run off under the snow at the bottom of the hill. My idea is that this will prevent ruts caused by cracking ice.

The tower contractor is surprised by the unlikelihood of the request, but goes along with it. He smiles, then comments,

“I’ve never heard of such a thing, but if it doesn’t work to achieve your main goal, you can always use it at the end of the season to hasten spring melting in order to start tower and cable maintenance ahead of the rush.”

“True. I trust you will be available at that time,”

replies Garrett with a feeling of satisfaction that he has chosen the right people for this work.

November 16, 2017

The construction is complete. Garrett lines

up the necessary personnel for management assistance, gift shop, equipment rentals, cleaning, maintenance, and security.

December 2017

Garrett runs the lodge for the first two weeks of the ski season, then turns over management to his very able trainee assistant. He plans to travel all over Europe skiing every mountain he can find, especially those skied by Globalists. The method is to recap his 2008 ski itinerary, over a longer period with more detail given to the small and less well known resorts that he missed the first time around.

Alpine Methodology

Garrett is well prepared for his task. He has procured and memorized pictures of most top Globalist bankers and significant functionaries subverted to IMF goals in every other area of human endeavor. He has become adept at using face recognition software for precise on-the-spot verification of those he will soon encounter at the resorts before taking action.

Some time ago, with a little help from Hilton Armstrong, Garrett developed a line of .177 caliber BBs made from a combination of eight deadly poisons, hard and heavy enough to pierce human skin at close range when fired from a relatively silent Walther CO2 pistol, but biodegradable to the extent of being able to dissolve in human blood within eleven seconds. In a note to Hilton he exclaimed,

“There be none such like unto it… We do the greatest work in the world.” 

St. Moritz, Switzerland

December 26, 2017

Garrett is delighted with the scenery as he arrives in the in the Engadin Valley. There is new powder and he enjoys three days of fine skiing. On the third evening, a party of four middle aged Globalist bankers and their wives check into the hotel just as Garrett is walking to the dining hall. He recognizes two of them immediately.

Garrett continues to the dining hall, enjoys his meal, but is disappointed that the new arrivals decide to use room service for their dinner. Now a good night’s sleep, then at breakfast, there they are again. He verifies the four men with his camera software. This is hard to do all at once without being conspicuous, so he does it in three separate intervals.

A splendid day of skiing has Garrett following the targets over a great deal of terrain, but offers no opportunity to come into proximity with them not in view of a great many other people. He is actually a bit relieved by this, because eight is a large number to do with the CO2 pistol. Too much could go wrong, and he would hate to use a knife for backup, especially on any of the women. That night he works out an alternate plan for New Year’s Eve.

December 31, 2017

Garrett has a table at a proper distance from the party of eight, but with a straight line of open space so that with his miniature parabolic microphone he can listen to their conversation, and sometimes, that of the waiter.

First the waiter brings menus, then takes a drink order from a nearby table with two couples and four children. The order, Garrett hears, is for the house specialty, an iced pitcher of Kirsch-Vodka Martinis. Garett notices that the waiter is in the midst of a discussion with his girlfriend, which he gets back to on his cell at intervals, while she waits patiently in their apartment at the other end.

The waiter goes into the kitchen. Almost immediately he comes back out and sets the pitcher on the side table, walks a few feet away with his back to the pitcher, and grabs two minutes on the cell. Now he delivers the pitcher to the family table, and returns to the banker table to take their drink order. He walks up,

“Good evening. What are we drinking tonight?”

One of the men answers,

“The Kirsch-Martini special, please.”

Garrett puts on a festive mask. When he sees the waiter enter the kitchen, he jumps up, and quickly maneuvers his way around behind a structural column next to the banker table, and is approaching the kitchen entryway just as the waiter comes out to do more time on his cell. Garrett steals up and drops the slow-working deadly contents of a tiny vial into the pitcher, then goes back to his spot unnoticed by any of the busy dinner talkers.

The waiter finishes on the cell and starts towards the banker table when one of the fathers at the family table holds up their nearly empty pitcher and says,

“Please, hit us again!”

The easiest course is to stop and give them this pitcher and quickly get a new one for the bankers. He sets it on the family table and goes back to the kitchen.

Garrett almost collapses, then quickly dawns the mask, walks roundabout but rapidly, to the family table, and says as he grabs the pitcher,

“Sorry, Folks. House limit of one pitcher per table… just kidding… but this batch was supposed to go to those folks over there. The waiter will give you a new one immediately.”

Garrett quickly delivers the pitcher to the banker table and says,

“Sorry for the delay, Folks. Your waiter lost his proper sequence. Everybody loves these Kirsch specials. Please enjoy,”

He sets the pitcher in the middle of the table. Now he walks briskly to the men’s room, takes the mask off, then casually walks roundabout  back to his table.

The bankers have already started on their drinks when the waiter is snagged by the family table for their new pitcher. Garrett breathes one of the deepest sighs of relief he can remember. He loves to eliminate Globalists, but will not even think about any action that involving “collateral damage.” His own meal arrives and he enjoys Filet Minot rapped with bacon, covered with black mushroom gravy, and Cauliflower au Groton on the side.

As Garrett eats, the party of eight begin to slow a bit in their speech. One of the men says, holding up his glass,

“These really pack quite a wallop.” 

Garrett would have enjoyed hearing this, but having completed his necessary action, is no longer listening to conversations, but simply enjoying his food while awaiting visual evidence of his success.

His waiter is just deleveraging Garrett’s Chocolate-Orange Tort Grand Marnier desert and the check, when one of the bankers, a portly chap of weak heart, slides off his chair onto the floor. The waiter looks annoyed and  very perplexed.

Garrett says,

“A bit early in the evening, I would say.”

The waiter smirks and leaves to call security. Garrett quickly seals his dessert into a plastic container he brought in anticipation of this emergency, pays the check, and leaves before the situation escalates.

On the television news the next morning there is much ado about a masked man delivering a pitcher of poison. Nobody can explain anything about motive. Garrett has a fine breakfast and moves on to the next resort. 

Bad Book Review

May 12, 2018

Garrett is enjoying his morning coffee. During the warm weather he takes care of odds and ends not associated with skiing. Recently he perfected a method to get photo, name, and physical address of anyone who does user ratings with reviews of books on the Internet.

Last year, a twenty year old Socialist jackass living in a Steampunk world of false technology and fantasy fashion, posted a user review on one of Garrett’s books. He used it as a forum to make a vicious general attack on all of Garrett’s writing, speaking as though he had read the other books. It was quite apparent that he hadn’t read any of them.

The things the reviewer said were completely untrue, but it’s impossible to get reviews removed without a lot of intrusive debate with distributors. It’s usually better not to contest these matters. Those who initiate such problems, however, must be removed from the marketplace of ideas concerning evolutionary destiny, wherein there is no room for liars. There is simply too much at stake.

May 13, 2018

Today Garrett will use the silent 7mm Luger used by his father before the Communist Jews were defeated in Germany during the 1930s. He parks one block over from the liar’s house. It’s a beautiful day and he doesn’t mind the walk. There is nobody around. He goes up to the front door and rings. The young liar answers. He looks exactly like his picture, and seems to vaguely recognize Garrett, who says,

“I’m here about your abusive false comments

on my books. Now for the consequences.”

The liar looks shocked. Garrett draws the Luger from under his coat and shoots the liar between the eyes, who then falls backwards onto the hall floor. Garrett pulls the door gently shut and walks back to his car.

Inflammatory Council

June 22, 2018

Garrett arrives in Brussels after reading about an innocuous enough gathering of thirty-eight prominent Globalists, but individually guilty of very bad things in the past.

Next morning 10:03 A.M.

A small house on a back street. When the guests are all inside, Garrett puts police locks on the two doors, having placed a jerrycan of high octane gasoline near a cellar window. Now he opens the window with a pinch bar, uncaps the can, throws it in, lights a large wooden match, and tosses it in, ducking quickly to the right.

Just as the window falls back into closed position, a tongue of fire comes back out as the gasoline explodes. The flames shoot quickly up the cellar stairs, and within twelve seconds the entire house is a raging inferno. Garrett is already two hundred feet away. He would like to stay and watch, but gets in his car, and leaves immediately.

The next day one sarcastic Libertarian newspaper headline reads:

Roasted Globalists, without Orange Sauce 

Zermatt, Switzerland

When Garrett was young, his superior hand-eye coordination made him an expert at ring toss games. This got him into nasty situations with more than one dishonest huckster at carnivals. At this resort he will enjoy this skill.

December 11. 2018

Garrett sees the Matterhorn again, and is once more reminded of the chap who skied down from the top, hopping from patch to patch of snow. Such relaxed courage seems to be a superhuman ideal towards which all people should aspire in individual areas of endeavor.

Garrett checks into the Hotel Alta. The next day he chooses the long run from Klein, Matterhorn back into town. Within five minutes, he spots and faceprints an important E.U. Globalist involved in the forced Islamization of Europe. Hopefully, the fellow is just far enough back in line so that he may not be able to board the first cable car with Garrett.

It’s close. Garrett is the second to last on the first car. When he reaches the top, he quickly skis down to a point he remembers where the trail goes between a tall escarpment of rock and a thick grove of evergreen trees. As he waits behind a very large tree trunk close to the trail, he fastens the far end of a thirty foot light wire cable to a heavy limb. At the business end of the cable is a light braided circular wire noose with padding, set to tighten hard, but not enough to decapitate.

Almost immediately the E.U. rotter comes along at a leisurely pace. Garrett sees this at a distance in his tiny dental mirror. As the fellow comes past, Garrett tosses the noose perfectly. The end of the cable is reached within two seconds. The man’s neck snaps like a twig, and there is no blood.

Garrett drags the body into the trees well out of view of the trail, recoils the cable, puts it back in his pocket, and tidies up the snow with a telescoping handled brush just in a nick of time. Other skiers are coming. Garrett hides, lets them pass, then he proceeds back down the trail at recreational speed.

For the next three days Garrett skis other trails. On the forth day he decides to do the long Matterhorn run again. As the cable car reaches 3820m, he jockeys for a view of the mountains, and instead sites a prominent female television journalist subverted to the IMF bankers. She is standing near the window, here alone for a few days off, dressed and groomed so as to be virtually unrecognizable. Garrett, however, has a keen eye and the faceprint confirms his perception. The  passengers disembark.

Garrett skis down immediately, to get well ahead of his quarry. She visits a snack bar, which gives him a good lead. After ten minutes he reaches the same point as his last kill, hoping to repeat the exact same method.

The woman comes along soon enough, but spoils Garrett’s plan. She is a very good skier and decides to treat the evergreens as a glade to ski among, rather than as an obstacle to be skied around. He sees this just in time, quickly turns at a right angle to the trail, and enters the trees so as to intercept her. This isn’t going to be easy.

He passes the body of the E.U. chap, now unrecognizable because birds have eaten his face. As Garrett crosses, he sees the woman slaloming through the trees, takes cover, cuts at an angle downhill, goes fast, and is on her tail within forty-two seconds.

Because of the soft powder, she doesn’t hear him. He tosses the noose. It sails perfectly, and falls over her head. Garrett jerks the cable backward as he jumps to a quick stop with his skis perpendicular to the fall line. Her neck snaps cleanly. She’s dead before she hits the snow. As Garrett removes the noose and recoils it , he says sympathetically,

“Sorry old girl. Nothing personal, but world liberty and human evolution must take a front seat to your personal wealth building program.”

Just after Garrett retires, it begins to snow. During the night there is a two inch dusting of fresh new powder. Next morning, Garrett looks out his window and thinks,

“If there is no search, both bodies may remain where they are for a very long time, or at least until they are picked clean by hungry birds.”

After breakfast, Garrett heads to the next resort. There is, of course, a search when prepayment on hotel rooms expire. Within four days of Garrett’s departure, both bodies are discovered. Both are unrecognizable, but wallet credentials quickly identify them. The modus operandi clearly points to one person killing both, but the fellows at Interpol can’t figure out any connection as to motive.

Les Trois Vallées, France

February 6, 2019

With grim business afoot, this time Garrett does not shack up with any curvaceous beauties, but does plan to ski all eight resorts.

While enjoying a hearty breakfast on his third day, now at the second resort, he faceprints two U.N. Globalist functionaries involved in flooding Europe with low IQ benefit-seeking Africans. One is a woman with her husband, the other a man with his girlfriend. Garrett has reached the conclusion that trash sojourns with trash, that killing sexual consorts is not really collateral damage. This will be a pleasure.

He finds the party of four in a lift line for one of the detachable quads. He is six people behind them, and speeds things up by sharing a lift with a young German couple. He makes pleasant conversation going up, then at the unload, sees the four just in time as they ski around a corner two hundred feet below on one of the five possible trails.

With Walther at the ready, Garrett takes off fast. At the corner, he sees them now just one hundred feet ahead. They have stopped to admire the view. Garrett skis briskly up, pulls the CO2 gun and shoots each in the face with one poison BB. As the fourth screams in fear, the first is already convulsing on the snow. Garrett looks around. Nobody coming yet. To none of them in particular he says,

“Sorry. I’d love to explain, but must be going.”  

Outback Methodology

On the Internet, Garrett finds a source near Brisbane for inexpensive high quality hunting boomerangs. No stain, no varnish, just good dry wood, perfectly cut, and very smooth.

He learned the technique of throwing boomerangs the summer after eighth grade, but finds now that he needs to bone up. A strong wrist action to stop the hand motion abruptly, and allow the boomerang to be catapulted, is what gives maximum distance.

With proper aim, Garrett usually hits the target. If he misses in an area devoid of trees, the boomerang circles and comes back landing close enough for easy retrieval. He keeps always ready with a light quiver of eight boomerangs in the trunk of his car.

July 14, 2019   10:48 A.M.

After a month of practice, one day he spots a Globalist banker in a convenience store, then follows at an inconspicuous distance in his car. The banker has the day off and is going on a short hike alone to a scenic overlook of the Austrian countryside. Garrett parks and gives the fellow a forty second head start.

For high impact, he’s hopes for a throwing distance of not more than seventy feet. He follows just out of sight for about one quarter of a mile, until the banker reaches the vista point and stops. There is a large open area between the overlook and the woods.

When Garret comes out of the trees and sees there is nobody else around, he grabs a boomerang and throws perhaps too quickly. It sails to within five feet of the bankers neck, curves, and comes back. The banker hears something of this. and looks around quickly as one would who suspects the presence of horseflies. He misses seeing the boomerang, Garrett has ducked behind some laurels.

Garrett decides he needs to be closer, and sprints quickly ahead another twenty feet. This time he throws perfectly, and with great power. The banker again hears something, and has turned his head about half way around when the boomerang slices deeply into his neck. He is not decapitated, but might as well be, because he’s dead before he hits the ground.

Garrett beams with delight and says aloud,

“Fair Dinkum!” 

To Swing is the Thing

October 3, 2019

Garrett is in Paris for two weeks. Today he plans to intercept six Globalist media people, three men and three women, all taking one stretch limousine to a conference at an estate on the outskirts of the city.

Early in the morning, on the road they will take, Garrett finds an easy to climb tree overhanging the pavement, right next to an eighty foot drop to a stony river bank. He has rigged up a forty-eight pound boulder in a strong nylon net with a rope to a limb over the road. It takes him three trials to adjust the rope to proper length so that the boulder will swing down precisely to hit the lower grill on the side adjacent to the river bank. Garrett hopes that this will cause the limousine to veer to the right and off the road down into the rocky area. 

He waits. Here they come. He can see two of them, but they are in a tall SUV. Garrett shrugs and lets the boulder swing down anyway. It hits the upper grill. The vehicle screeches to a stop. Garrett slides down the rope. Just as the driver is getting out, Garrett shoots him in the face with the CO2 poison pellet pistol.

Six long agonizing seconds pass, as the man stares at Garrett, then finally slumps forward. Garrett pushes him back into the driver’s seat, presses the button to lock all the other doors, releases the emergency brake, cuts the wheel toward the drop, and pushes the vehicle with all his strength. It moves very slowly at first. As it nears the edge, he gives one last thrust, and closes the door. The vehicle rolls off the road, and plummets to the river bank. After three seconds, it explodes.

Everybody will be incinerated. There is nobody coming. Garrett drops the boulder back onto the river bank, scrambles up the tree, unties the rope, scrambles down the tree, and gets to his car just as a police vehicle comes into view. This is only coincidence. Nobody discovers the SUV crispies until fifty-eight minutes later. In the officer’s memory, he doesn’t even connect seeing Garrett with the crash. It looks like an accident and is written off as such.

Chamonix-Mont-Blanc, France

October 6, 2019

No snow yet, but Garrett rides up Grands Montets just to enjoy the view. He notices an old stone wall running perpendicular to the lift. He plans to keep an eye out for this when the snow comes.

December 16, 2019

Just as he thought. The stone wall is completely concealed by the snow, and there is an out-of-bounds sign on the main trail blocking the open area that leads to the wall.

His second evening in the dining room at Le Vert, Garrett spots a party of three infamous Globalists with their female consorts. He will use the Luger for a party of six.

The next morning he is delighted to see that they take the road to Grands Montets. He speeds past them, parks, and gets on the lift about ten minutes ahead of them, the first person on the mountain since last night’s new inch of powder. He skis down to the closed area, conceals the sign behind a rock, then continues down, stops just short of the wall, and hides behind a large tree trunk.

The party of six arrive at the top and take what now really looks like a side trail because of Garrett’s fresh tracks, with none yet on the main trail. It’s a beautiful sunny day.

The skiers are exhilarated and go fast. The first in line, a man about forty-five, hits the wall and is pitched head-over-heels and lands shreiking with two broken legs. The next two try to stop. They too hit the wall, but not as hard. The last three come to a full stop just in time.

Garrett steps out, quickly shoots these three between their inquiring eyes. The others, already on the ground, are further away. Garrett shoots wherever he can hit them.

He has to use a second bullet on one, and is relieved that he won’t need to reload.

Now he herring-bones quickly back up to the place where he put the sign, and replaces it. A strong cross wind all but conceals the ski marks within thirty seconds. He takes the main trail fast to the bottom, and moves on to one of the other resorts in case the bodies are discovered soon.

Sword, Pen, Podium

Garrett is delighted with the success he has had in eliminating confirmed enemies of liberty, prosperity, and peace. The numbers have been small, however, and the risk is very great.

He has also been successful in educating younger people with books about the agenda behind Globalism, before they become deeply subverted themselves. The numbers reached are much greater than his victories in the field. There is also the hope that many of those educated will become field warriors as well.

Now Garrett contemplates the fact that most college student activists rarely have enough time to read anything not assigned by their professors, but love to lock horns with the “establishment” by engaging guest speakers in debate during question and answer sessions.

He decides that he had better also try to educate young people with oratory. Some only want to shout down everybody else, but there are sure to be a few who actually have good intentions and need only to have their zeal directed into constructive channels by showing them who the establishment really is. He makes application for speaking engagements at several universities in Austria.

September 18, 2020

University of Vienna. Student protestors who haven’t read any of Garrett’s books, are carrying all the usual phony signs about “diversity” vs “racism.”

9:04 A.M.

In the main auditorium, after a brief polite introduction by one of the history professors, Garrett takes the podium. He is wearing slacks, an Oxford button-down shirt, and a gray Harris tweed jacket.

“Good morning. Thanks for coming. I hope I’m dressed okay. Suits and neckties make me uncomfortable… As I drove onto the campus, I noticed students with signs protesting my arrival. If anyone here knows any of these individuals, try asking them if they have ever read any of my books. I’ll bet their only ideas about me come second hand from subverted television news networks.

“There will be a long question and answer session at the end. I and the University staff will be happy to hear everybody’s viewpoint in detail at that time. I’m hoping that some of you may have read one of my books and would like to hear comments from anyone who has.

“My theme today is Reality vs. Illusion. The reality of world politics now is that elite Globalist Bankers are moving us all towards totalitarian Socialism under a one world government. The illusion they strive to create, is that this will make a better world, when in fact it will enslave everyone on Earth and destroy all future potential of mankind forever.

“Long ago Sir Winston Churchill told us about Socialism. He summarized thusly:

‘Socialism is the philosophy of failure, the creed of ignorance, and the gospel of envy.’

“He was one-hundred percent right. Socialism is contrary to all natural laws. It has never worked anywhere it’s been tied, yet every generation there is a new crop of phonies who imagine themselves to be terribly avant guarde in insisting that the way to solve all of societies problems is to have government confiscate money from the producing sector and give it to the ne’r-do-wells, whose numbers, of course, increase with every election.

“In the time allotted, I can touch only lightly on these matters, but I urge you all to seek detailed understanding from a link, The Fulfillment of Evolutionary Destiny. This will be very enriching if done in small doses during your summer break. See the World Libertarian Order website.

“The reality is that the Globalist elite want absolute power and unlimited wealth. Long ago they came to realize that subjugating all of humanity can be done only with disinformation, misdirection, and the engineering of consent.

“John F. Kennedy spoke about this in 1963 when he dedicated the Kennedy Memorial Library in Boston Massachusetts. Educated people in America say that it’s the speech that got him and his brother Robert, killed. They also point out that all the other American presidents assassinated, had in common that they urged Congress to get the United States out from under private bank control through national ownership of the central bank, with issuance and control of a national currency. I am, of course, speaking of Abraham Lincoln, James A. Garfield, and William McKinley.

“Globalist banker subverted minions include:

   The United Nations

   The European Union

   Defense Contractors

   Military Profiteers

   Legislators

   News Media

   Educators

   Reparations Parasites

   Fake Historians

   Everyday Citizens comprising,

      Compromised Adults and

      Misdirected Youth  

  Self-Disabling Parasites especially,

      Breeders 

      Wastrels

      Mental Cases

      Drug Addicts

      Sex Perverts

  and, of course,

  Invaders, both Legal and Illegal”

A deep murmur sweeps over the audience. Then silence. Someone sneezes. Garrett shuffles his papers, then continues,

“Why do they subvert almost everybody? The answer is simply this: Insatiable greed. They love only gold.

“Globalist bankers make money by lending money, mainly to countries. To this end they manipulate currencies to cause wars and economic upheaval so they can lend to both sides for military mobilization and otherwise unnecessary social programs. 

“If you believe the mainstream media which they own and control, then elect the politicians they have subverted, you have effectively put  weasels in charge of your henhouse. No amount of video game heroism, drug dreams, or ballgame enthusiasm will ever make up for a suicidal lack of proper adult seriousness…”

Garrett continues with supporting historical facts for another forty-two minutes. At the end, he thinks it a very good sign that most of the questions center around having him expand upon various points covered in the lecture, rather than knee-jerk efforts at trying to refute the information. They give him a large round of respectful applause, but there are mostly knitted brows and thoughtful looks, rather than gleeful smiles. Reality has a way impinging.

That night at dinner, Garrett feels that he made a good choice in trying oratory. If even five percent of the kids look at the website, then the time expenditure is justified. Maybe after the ski business ahead, he should get an agent to book him on a lecture circuit… but… an awfully structured way to live. 

St. Anton, Austria

Garrett has three compact but powerful hand grenades, and has been eager to try them out. The main variables are to use only one if possible, and not to trigger an avalanche that might sweep away good people.

January 8, 2021

For three days, Garrett has enjoyed some very fine skiing. On the third night at dinner he spots two subverted defense contractors with their female consorts at a nearby table. He studies the possibilities for using poison, and there are some, but the grenade scenario is first in mind, the cool part being that the explosion is a quiet whooshing sound, rather than a loud bang.

The next morning Garrett checks out of the hotel, packs his car, gives the two couples a five minute lead, then rides to the top. At the unload he can see them a few hundred feet down the large open area.

The quarry stops between two ridges which conceal them from view in every direction. Perfect! Garrett skis down fast, pulls the grenade pin at just the right moment, then carves a turn spraying the four with snow. As he tosses the grenade in their midst, he says,

“Here’s some high-tech ordnance. Enjoy!”

As he shoots away, he hears the whoosh, holds up a wrist mirror and sees the four figures behind now laying in the snow. He skis down to his car and drives to the next resort.

Innsbruck, Austria

February 18, 2021

As Garrett checks into the Goldene Krone, he is standing next to a Globalist media mogul being advised by the clerk about ski jumps at Stubai Glacier, open very early in the day.

The next morning Garrett arrives at the jump well ahead of the media boss. Nobody is around. He ties a fifty foot white nylon rope to a tree about eight feet up and twenty feet short of the approximate landing point. Garrett knows where this is from past experience.

He snakes the rope behind the tree, across the landing area, then up behind a tree on the other side, where he holds it high, while concealed behind the massive trunk.

After a long wait, the Globalist comes along, but has a woman with him. He man goes first, reaches just the right speed, and sails off nicely. Garrett is impressed with his form. The woman shoots off just behind him, but not close enough for a double duty kill.

The man continues sailing through the air. At the proper second when he is six feet above the snow about to land, Garrett pulls the rope tight. It catches the poor fellow just above the ankles, causing him to spin forward at great velocity. As he hits the ground his neck snaps like a pretzel and he dies instantly.

As the woman lands, Garrett rushes in on her with looped rope in hand, tosses it around her neck, then hoists her over his back like a sack of potatoes, the same technique used by Thugee assassins.

Keeping the woman off the snow proves to be a very awkward business because of her skis. She kicks and flails for so long a time that Garrett begins to think about the knife in his left pocket. Much too messy. Finally she stops, but Garrett breaks her neck just to be sure.

Garrett has already checked out and relocates to the Hotel Bavaria near Zugspitze Mountain. The rest of this season is packed with very good skiing, but free of Globalist encounters.

Bled, Slovenia

December 18, 2021

Garrett is again at the Apartments Sasha. On the fourth day, he spots a Globalist political couple in the chairlift line. He’s packing the Walther CO2 pistol, and hangs back enough to give them a proper head start.

He keeps a distance behind until they stop to admire the view, then skis down fast. He stops abruptly, and shoots the man in the neck. The woman is further away. He aims for her neck, but hits her forehead. The full eleven seconds pass. This is very scary, but now both are finally lying dead in the snow. The encounter, however, now brings unwanted attention.

Garrett turns around. Just to the left of a sheer drop off, a chap is coming out the woods where he has been answering nature’s call. He is talking on a cellphone, but out of range for the CO2 pistol. He doesn’t know this, however, so Garrett points the pistol and says,

“Please, sir. Take off your skis and throw them and the phone over the headwall so I won’t have to kill you.”

The fellow complies immediately.

Garrett smiles under his face mitten and says,

“Thank you, sir. Good choice,”

then skis down quickly.

He has no idea about the content of the phone call, and is very worried that police will be waiting for him at the bottom. Luckily, they are not. He checks out of the hotel immediately and heads to Kobla.

These events have shaken Garrett to the core. When he stops for lunch, he thinks to himself, 

“With slightly different timing that fellow might have seen the events a few seconds sooner, stayed hidden in the woods, and made a long uninterrupted call without my even knowing it. Plus, I don’t want to hurt blameless civilians, under any circumstances. I’m going to cut the tour du ski short and head to Las Vegas.”

Garrett finds a plane by 2:00 P.M. The ski resort he created in the German countryside is in very good hands and continues to run smoothly for the next five years, until Garrett returns because of a special opportunity. 

Ski Slope Ice

March 1, 2026

Garrett needs a vacation from the girls in Albany. He is very glad to see Hans and Herma Bierman again after so long a time. They are looking prosperous and content.

As Garrett planned, all the improvements

orchestrated in 2017 have attracted greater numbers of top Globalist functionaries. He has returned at this time because of an upcoming event.

In eight days there will be a series of competitions which the organizers are calling the “Spring Ski Off.” When Garrett sees the sign he chuckles to himself and thinks,

“Ski Off is right.”

Garrett gives the assistant manager nine days off with pay, and immediately resumes the management of the ski lodge himself. At eight o’clock every morning he turns on the heat coils under the snow to produce melting.

Every afternoon he inspects the sheer rock face from a distance with a high powered telescope. He is delighted to see that there is no water runoff. The dam building project he did alone at the at the edge of the escarpment just before the first snowfall in 2017 is the reason. When the snow melted in the spring of 2018, people who saw the little ridge, simply assumed that it was a supplement to the flimsy fence, and for the past eight ski seasons it has served as precisely that.

At eight o’clock each night, Garrett turns on the snowmaking machines, and turns off the heating coils to allow the water to freeze into solid ice before the next day of skiing. There has been an unusual amount of natural snow this season. This is good, because with every passing day the thickness of the snow layer decreases in favor of an increasing layer of ice beneath. There must be a skiable surface.

March 9, 2026   8:00 A.M.

Over three-hundred-twenty contestations are arrayed in fashion plate finery across the top of the slope just below the lodge. Garrett has a fine view from his office window.

After a long night of moonlight errands along the boundaries of the slope, Garrett turned on the heat coils at five o’clock this morning, a great deal of work for this special occasion. The first event is ballet. Garrett is tired, but enjoys watching this, and thinks to himself,

“What a pity that such fine skiers should have no regard for the future of mankind, no mature concept of evolutionary destiny.”

One couple does an interlacing pattern of eight consecutive three-hundred-sixty degree turns leaving what looks like a giant snowflake pattern in the virgin snow. They must have practiced all winter. The crowd applauds them roundly. Garrett shakes his head sadly,

“Such a pity!”

He enjoys watching a few more events. They have scheduled the Downhill Melee for after lunch so that people will be well rested.  He turns off the heating coils.

12:30 P. M.

The desk is slow now, so Garrett invites the cute young blond hostess into the office to watch with him. All the skiers are back from the dining room and the free-for-all begins. Garrett watches very carefully now.

When the last of the contestants are on the slope at least fifty feet below the lodge, Garrett unobtrusively presses a button in his pocket to activate remote detonators sparking a great many dynamite sticks around the slope, all four feet below the snow. At the same instant he triggers the standard loud blast of the diesel starter horn from the lodge. The explosions are  barely audible, but the jolt of synchronous vibrations are felt by one and all.

Garrett says to the hostess,

“I didn’t know you had earth tremors here.”

The hostess blinks and says,

“We don’t, as a rule. That’s quite a horn.”

Garrett smiles and nods in agreement,

“Yes, it is.”

Now the ice cracks into huge slabs that begin to slide, slowly at first, towards the escarpment. This is where the real skiing begins. Garrett and the hostess stand transfixed, astounded by what they see next.

As if on a moving mogul run, skiers hop from one slab to another. Most try to ski towards the ledges at one side or the other, each adrift on their own little ice pan, moving faster every second down to the escarpment. Those who miss their mark fall screaming between the slabs and are ground under like rotted tree trunks beneath a glacier.

One immensely strong young man tries to power ski up the fall. He makes some headway at first, but can’t do it fast enough. The ice is moving faster now. Gravity is a stern master in these situations.

Although it seems like an eternity, even to Garrett, from the blowing of the starter horn, the entire ski off takes only two minutes and thirty-six seconds, until the last of the Globalist skiers plummet to their death at the bottom of the escarpment.

Garrett looks at the hostess and says,

“Unbelievable… Like a dream.”

The network of wire mesh has been swept down with the skiers. What is now seen by looking over the edge down the two hundred foot drop, is surrealistic, like small colorful plastic figures and ice cubes dumped out of

a box into the snow.

Garrett’s car is already packed. He mails the letter terminating his lease with Hans Bierman, grabs a bottle of hazelnut iced coffee from the cooler, leaves, and is never seen in this part of Germany ever again.

Nobody really understands what happened. When the police investigate they find some trace of dynamite, but a nearby chap says,

“They use that periodically to trigger avalanche so there will be no build up.”

The police know this, but are perplexed as

to the whereabouts of the manager. An office worker in the lodge says,

“He didn’t have insurance coverage except for the standard small things, like broken legs. No one could ever anticipate anything of this scale. It would take thirty lifetimes of garnished income to pay the lawsuits this will generate. In his situation, I would leave for parts unknown.”

The police empathize, and ultimately dismiss the entire matter. There is a complex civil liability hearing filled against the assets of the inn and ski area. The judge knows that all the Globalist families are well off with ill-gotten gain, considers the larger view of things, and rules in favor of Hans and Herma Bierman.