The 10 Stupidest Moments in Glenn Beck's New Novel
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It's unclear how Noah knew the password for this folder, but the answer probably has something to do with Woodrow Wilson.
6. The co-conspirator wrap party
One of the key plot elements of the book, we think, was a police raid on a Founders Keepers meeting which Noah attended with Molly. The NYPD raid the meeting after a bunch of rowdy participants -- really undercover cops looking to purposefully start trouble -- get violent and one of them fires off a gun. After Noah is arrested and taken downtown, he figures out that the whole thing was a set-up when he, quite conveniently, sees every one of the agents provocateurs just hanging out and chatting in the police station, in full view of everyone and still dressed as Founders Keepers:
From the sound of it, this new call was either to an assistant district attorney or the DA himself, but before he could pick up the gist of the conversation something grabbed Noah's full attention through the thin window by the door frame.
Out in a common area, a dozen or so men were gathered together having coffee and a collegial chat with some uniformed police. He stood and stepped closer to the glass, trying hard to believe his eyes. In this surreal gathering was every heckler, every troublemaker who had made himself apparent during the speeches at the bar. Everyone of them was dressed similarly, the differences being confined to the inflammatory slogans on their clothing and their selection of cracker-chic accessories. When scattered among a larger group they'd been harder to spot as co-conspirators, but all together like this, with their guard down, their costumes were obvious and their mannerisms out of character. It looked like the after-party of a Larry the Cable Guy stunt-double audition at Central Casting.
One of them matched a picture in Noah's memory to the very last detail. He was sure this time: the man was wearing a loud flannel shirt, a hunter's vest, a do-rag torn from the corner of a Confederate battle flag, and a shoulder holster.
7. Love... and the flat tax
I don't know about the rest of you, but after I kiss the girl of my dreams for the first time, the very next thing I want to do is discuss with her the virtues of the flat tax:
He bent to her, closed his eyes, and her lips touched his, gently, and again more urgently as he responded. He felt her arms around him, her body yearning against his in the embrace, a knot like hunger inside, heart quickening, cool hands at his back under the warmth of his jacket, searching, pressing him closer still. With everything to see and hear around them there at the very crossroads of the world, soaring billboards, scrolling news crawlers, bright digital Jumbotrons that lined the tall buildings and blotted out the whole evening sky, it all disappeared to its rightful insignificance, flat as a postcard. That place was left outside their small circle, and if asked right then he might have stayed there within it forever. But he felt her smile against his lips as they were brought back to where they stood by the brusque voice of a passing man, who advised in his native Brooklynese that maybe they should go and get a room.
A light drizzle had begun to fall, and down the block they found a coffee shop with two seats by the window where they could wait out the patch of rain. When he returned from the counter with their cups he found her sitting with a folded newspaper, not reading it but lost somewhere in her thoughts. It was a while before she spoke.