http://www.trutv.com/library/crime/notorious_murders/famous/smith/confess_8.html
tru TV [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]
By Rachel Pergament
The Confession
On Thursday, November 3, 1994, the ninth day since the carjacking and disappearance of the Michael and Alex Smith, their parents, Susan and David rose early to prepare themselves for interviews on three television network morning programs. Susan and David sat together holding hands on the Russells' living room sofa during their interviews. On CBS This Morning, Susan was asked if she had any involvement in her son's disappearance. Susan answered the question by saying, "I did not have anything to do with the abduction of my children." Susan added that, "Whoever did this is a sick and emotionally unstable person." Although David and Susan were legally separated, when David was asked whether he believed his wife, he replied, "Yes, I believe my wife totally."
After the interviews, Susan and David had been scheduled to sit for an interview with the Union Daily Times, but Margaret Gregory called and cancelled the interview explaining that the couple were exhausted and had enough media attention for the day.
At 12:30 p.m., Susan told her mother that she and David were going to run errands. Susan did not tell her mother that Sheriff Wells had sent for her. Susan was taken to another safe house for another interrogation.
Susan was dressed in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt and brought to her latest interrogation a newly revised statement that said the same things as her previous statement, the only change being that the name "Monarch Mills" had been changed to "Carlisle". Agent Logan asked Susan if she had anything else to add to her statement and she said no. At that point, Sheriff Wells was summoned to speak with Susan.
Susan was beginning to be worn down by the intensive and lengthy interrogations. Susan had also been facing increasingly skeptical news reporters who had started to pressure her for an explanation of Sheriff Wells' statement regarding the unspecified inconsistencies in her story.
Stephen King
The Stand - The Complete & Uncut Edition [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]
"What the fuck was that?" The Kid whispered.
"I didn't hear anyth-"
Then he did hear something. He heard a small rattle of pebbles and stones on the other side of the highway. His dream recurred to him in sudden, total recall that froze his blood and evaporated all the spit in his mouth.
"Who's there?" The Kid shouted. "You better answer me! Answer, goddammit, or I start shooting!"
And he was answered, but not by any human voice. A howl rose up in the night like a hoarse siren, first climbing and then dropping rapidly down to a guttural growl.
"Holy Jesus!" The Kid said, and his voice was suddenly thin.
Coming down the slope on the far side of the turnpike and crossing the median strip were wolves, gaunt gray timberwolves, their eyes red, their jaws gaping and adrip. There were more than two dozen of them. Trashcan, in an ecstasy of terror, made wee-wee in his pants again.
The Kid stepped around the trunk of the Austin, leveled his .45s, and began firing. Flame licked from the barrels; the sound of the shots echoed and reechoed from the mountain faces, making it sound as if artillery were at work. Trashcan Man cried out and poked his index fingers in his ears. The night breeze tattered the gun-smoke, fresh and ripe and hot. Its cordite aroma stung his nose.
The wolves came on, no faster and no slower, at a fast walk. Their eyes ... Trashcan Man found himself unable to look away from their eyes. They were not the eyes of ordinary wolves; of that he was quite convinced. They were the eyes of their Master, he thought. Suddenly he remembered his prayer and he was afraid no longer. He took his fingers out of his eyes. He ignored the wetness spreading at his crotch. He began to smile.
The Kid had emptied both of his guns, dropping three of the wolves in doing so. He holstered the .45s without making an attempt to reload and turned west. He went about ten paces and then stopped. More wolves were padding down the westbound lanes., weaving in and out of the dark hulks the stalled cars like tattered streamers of mist. One of them raised its snout to the sky and howled. Its cry was joined by a second, the second by a third, the third by a whole chorus. Then they came on again.
The Kid began to back up. He was trying to load one of his guns now, but the shells were spilling out between his nerveless fingers. Suddenly he gave up. The gun fell out of his hand and clunked down on the road. As if it had been a signal, the wolves rushed him.
With a high, reedy scream of fear, The Kid turned and ran for the Austin. As he ran, his second pistol tumbled from its low holster and bounced off the road. With a low, ripping growl, the wolf closest to him sprang just as The Kid dove in the Austin and slammed the door.
He just made it. The wolf bounced off the door, growling, its red eyes rolling horribly. It was joined by the others, and in moments the Austin was ringed with wolves. From inside, The Kid's face was a small white moon looking out.
Then one of the wolves was coming toward the Trashcan Man, its triangular head held low, its eyes glowing like stormlamps.
My life for you ...
Steadily, now not in the least afraid, Trash went to meet it. He held out his burned hand and the wolf licked it. After a moment it sat at his feet, curling its ragged, brushy tail about its withers.
The Kid was staring at him, his mouth hanging open.
Smiling into his eyes, Trashcan Man gave him the finger.
Both fingers.
And he screamed: "Fuck you! You're shut down! Do you hear me? DO YOU BELIEVE THAT HAPPY CRAPPY? SHUT DOWN! DON'T TELL ME, I'LL TELL YOU!"
The wolf's mouth closed gently on Trashcan's good hand. He looked down. It was standing again, tugging him lightly. Tugging him west.
"All right," Trashcan said serenely. "Okay, boy."
He began to walk and the wolf fell in right behind him, walking like a well-trained dog at heel. As they walked away, five others joined them from amid the stalled cars. Now he walked with one wolf ahead of him, one behind him, and two on each side, like an escorted dignitary.
He paused once and looked back over his shoulder. He never forgot what he saw: a ring of wolves sitting patiently in a gray circle around the little Austin, and the pale circle of The Kid's face staring out, his mouth working behind the windowglass. The wolves seemed to grin up at The Kid, their tongues lolling out of their mouths. They seemed to be asking him just how long it would be before he kicked the dark man out of ole Lost Wages on his ass. Just how long?
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Eastern Bloc information dissemination
Eastern Bloc information dissemination was controlled directly by each country's Communist party, which controlled the state media, censorship and propaganda organs. State and party ownership of print, television and radio media served as an important manner in which to control information and society in light of Eastern Bloc leaderships viewing even marginal groups of opposition intellectuals as a potential threat to the bases underlying Communist power therein.
In the Eastern Bloc, the state owned and operated the means of mass communication. The ruling authorities viewed media as a propaganda tool, and widely practiced censorship to exercise almost full control over the information dissemination. The press in Communist countries was an organ of, and completely reliant on, the state. Until the late 1980s, all Eastern Bloc radio and television organizations were state-owned (and tightly controlled), while print media was usually owned by political organizations, mostly by the local Communist party.
