by I. T. Lucas
Now it's getting interesting… Sharim edged closer to the table.
Losham continued, "The Americans losing their leadership position provides us with an amazing opportunity. If we help accelerate that trend, we will achieve WWIII in no time. Without the United States to protect it, the West is up for grabs. The various power-hungry crazies around the word are already raising their heads and are poised to destroy all the progressive, technologically advanced countries that would be left defenseless with no armies to speak of of their own. The world would revert to the dark ages." Losham's intelligent eyes shone with excitement as he waited for Sharim to make his move.
Sharim ventured with his knight though his mind wasn't on the chessboard anymore. It was now on the larger game at hand.
Losham was obviously letting himself get carried away on the wings of wishful thinking and his own imagination. The United States was still the strongest nation in the world, with the largest, most powerful army, and it would take a lot more than what his father was describing to weaken it. Still, planting weeds in that fertile soil was always a good strategy. One had to be careful about it, though. A few weeds here and there that grew hidden from watchful eyes and undermined the strong foundation that country was built on were a better strategy than planting whole fields of them and attracting the watchers' attention.
"How do you propose we do it?"
"It is so easy, it is laughable. I do not even need to come up with creative ideas. They did it all for me. All we need to hasten their downfall is a gentle shove."
"I'm listening."
"Do you know why most of the European countries face bankruptcy despite their technology and their lofty democratic ideas?"
Sharim nodded, at the last moment refraining from snorting. "Everyone knows. Too many recipients of welfare and other benefits with too few working to finance all that giveaway."
"Well, apparently not everyone knows because the United States is heading in the same direction. The government is overloading those who produce with unreasonable regulation and taxation while at the same time expecting the dwindling number of hardworking donkeys to haul on their back an ever-growing population of the dependent and non-producing. Less and less is produced, more and more is given away, and then there is no money left to keep armed forces that are formidable enough to act as a deterrent to the various upstarts."
"So why do we need to do anything? With the trajectory they are on, their downfall is inevitable."
A cunning smile tugging at his lips, Losham braced his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. "Yes, but we need to make sure they stay on that path. They could still turn things around. My plan is to reinforce that momentum until it gains critical velocity so a recovery would be impossible even if the American public somehow wakes up and realizes that their pretty little dream had turned into their worst nightmare."
He took a sip from his glass before continuing.
"So here is what I want you to do. Besides taking charge of the hunt, that is. You will start working on their media and their movie industry while your counterpart would work on Washington."
"I thought we were already doing that."
"Yes, but we did it in an indirect way, providing funds for research that supported our agenda, financing those student organizations in their learning institutions who voiced the views we wanted them to, providing the environmentalists with shitloads of money for their campaigns and their lobbyists, etc. The results are fantastic, by far exceeding our best case expectations…"
Losham chuckled. "It is absolutely amazing how gullible people are. Where do they think the environmentalists get the money to pay for their campaigns and finance their lobbyists? The trees? No one stops to think that whoever is providing that much money expects to profit from their investment. If anyone did, they would follow the logic, put two and two together, and figure out who it is that stands to gain the most from its success."
"I bet our allies are just as amazed. Truth be told, when you suggested we jump on the whole global-warming bandwagon, I was afraid our allies would be negatively impacted because alternative sources of energy will mean less fossil fuels sales for them. But it seems I had nothing to fear." Sharim lifted his glass in salute.
"That was the beauty of my plan. Who would ever suspect the biggest oil producers of funding an environmental agenda? Ha? But you see, son, you hadn't thought the whole thing through the way I did. People still want to drive their cars and use electricity, and factories need to produce. So even if everyone did their best to conserve, the population of the world still keeps growing and consumption is growing with it. They have to get the energy somewhere. But thanks to all the environmental brouhaha, there is no drilling for oil to speak of in the West, and no new nuclear power generation either. Guess who they need to keep buying from?"
"I see." Sharim regarded his father with newfound appreciation.
"The thing is, the big gears are moving, but not fast enough. Lord Navuh is getting impatient. He wants to quicken the pace."
"Okay… how?"
"On one front, by threatening and blackmailing anyone who is voicing opposition to the current policy, and publicly demonizing those that we cannot get to. On another, by pushing for more and more environmental regulation to choke up their industry so it’ll be forced to move out to third-world countries to remain competitive. This will result in fewer jobs for Americans and more unemployment benefits being paid out for longer periods of time. I want you to buy TV stations, cable stations, movie production companies, and controlling interest in news publications. We need to keep the American public blindsided by exaggerating nonsense like the cute poor polar bears or some other idiotic issue they can rally behind, and keep their focus away from the storm of shit that is stinking up the rest of the world and heading their way."
Losham finished the last of his whiskey and got up to refill their glasses.
"I know I am asking a lot from you, son. But if anyone could pull it off without leaving a trail that can lead back to us, it is you. You have done it successfully before."
"What's my budget?"
"Basically unlimited. Lord Navuh is a hundred percent behind this, as are our deep-pocketed allies."
"I must say, I'm impressed with the scope of this campaign, and tremendously flattered to be one of the two entrusted with leading it."
"My part was the long term planning and assigning the right men to implement it. The rest is up to you and your counterpart in Washington. I've been teaching you and grooming you for over a thousand years, and you're more than ready, my boy. The logistics and all the rest of the planning minutiae I leave to you."
Sharim pushed up from his chair and as his father offered him his palm, he bowed and kissed the back of Losham's hand in a show of utmost respect.
"I will not disappoint you, Father."
"I know, my son." Losham pulled him into an embrace.
With his head buzzing with all he'd learned, Sharim got into his jeep and drove back to the base, his plans for spending some pleasant time in the whorehouse completely forgotten.
What a disrespectful fool he'd been for thinking his father was just a yes man for Navuh.
Losham was absolutely brilliant, and apparently, Lord Navuh was well aware of the fact, keeping his eldest son at his side not because the man was a pleasant, agreeable companion, but because he was a great strategist.
And such modesty.
Thinking of the few times he'd alluded to his father's unimportant position in the organization, Sharim cringed. Losham had never bothered to correct him, smiling as if agreeing with the misguided perception, when in fact, he was the one making all those smart plans in their exalted leader's name.
"Checkmate, Father. You win again." Sharim saluted as his headlights turned on, illuminating the dark tunnel leading back to the base.
He was so proud of his father…
So proud to be Losham's son.
CHAPTER 8: AMANDA
With th
e morning's diffused sunshine warming her face, Amanda reluctantly opened her eyes and shifted to her back. The light was coming through the only windows that weren't shuttered, the two small glass triangles flanking the cabin's stone fireplace at its top. Looking out, all she could see were green treetops swaying gently against the cloudless, blue background.
It was a beautiful day…
Somewhere in the mountains…
So yesterday wasn't a bad dream. She really got kidnaped by an insane, huge Doomer, who initially had wanted her for his mate, but owing to her monumental stupidity had probably changed his mind and was going to kill her instead.
The good news was that Dalhu hadn't come back to chop off her head…
Yet…
And perhaps, if luck would have it, he wouldn't come back at all…
So why did she feel a ping of regret at the prospect of never seeing him again?
Because she was an idiot, who had the hots for a Doomer.
And to think that she'd actually started to like the brute. In a way, it was good that she'd discovered his true nature before doing something she would've regretted later. Not that doing the something that she had in mind with Dalhu would've been okay under any circumstances.
Luckily, it was off the table now. Hot or not, the guy was a ticking time bomb.
Scooting to the foot of the bed, she lifted to her knees and took a peek over the railing.
Shit.
Dalhu was sleeping on the couch with his long legs hanging over the armrest, one muscular arm resting on the couch's back, the other hanging down its side.
Naked.
Magnificent.
Unfortunately, the blanket covering his midsection robbed her of a full frontal view.
Bummer.
You are an idiot, Amanda.
This man, as mouth-watering as he was, was a killer.
With a sigh, she tore her eyes away from all that maleness, grabbed her purse, and tiptoed to the bathroom.
One look at the vanity mirror and her mood plummeted even lower. She looked just as awful as she felt. Or perhaps worse. There were dark circles under her eyes that had nothing to do with the black mascara smudges, her hair was a messed-up jungle and not half as glossy as it usually was after shampooing and conditioning with her custom-formulated hair products, and the pink sweats she was wearing were absolutely hideous.
Looking horrible, in addition to having a homicidal lunatic sleeping down on the couch, was utterly depressing.
Amanda sighed. There was nothing to be done about the pink polyester monstrosity, but she could do something about the hair and the face. Splashing cold water on her head helped to tame the wild mess into something manageable, and she felt a little better after washing her face and applying makeup.
Trouble was, once done with her morning routine, there was nothing to distract her from how parched she was or how empty her stomach felt. Going down to the kitchen, though, risked rousing the angry bear on the couch.
Another trip to the bathroom took care of the thirst problem. Though blah… drinking water from the faucet was a new low for her. Still, there was the issue of her growling tummy. A quick search through her purse yielded nothing edible—unless one counted the cherry-flavored lip-gloss.
Oh, what the hell.
Slinking down the stairs, she did her best to avoid making any noise, putting as little weight as possible on the wooden stairs and bracing most of it on the wall-side railing.
She made it all the way down without waking Dalhu but then couldn't resist getting a little closer for a better look.
Big mistake.
With him being so yummy, and her being so hungry—and not strictly for food—she had to shove a fist into her mouth and bite it to stifle the involuntary moan.
You're such a stupid slut, Amanda! Inching back, she turned around and tiptoed into the kitchen.
Another peanut butter sandwich coming up. Yippie-kai-yey.
Her cardboard-tasting creation in hand, Amanda leaned against the counter and eyed the cold pot of coffee Dalhu had made last night. But even though it was right there on the stove, she didn't dare heat it up. Turning on the electric stove would've been soundless, but the boiling water was sure to make some noise. Even she knew as much.
Oh, hell. Old, cold coffee is better than none. Right?
Or maybe not.
The thing tasted like mud. Not that she'd ever eaten dirt before… but if it quacked like a duck, it probably tasted like one too, and all that…
"I'll make you a new one." Dalhu's deep voice had her whip around so fast that she got dizzy and listed to the side, putting a hand out to steady herself.
In a flash, he was right next to her, propping her up by her elbow. "Easy there, girl."
Her heart up in her throat, Amanda scooted away and wedged herself into a corner of cabinets. Not that it offered any real shelter, but with Dalhu blocking the way she had nowhere to go.
He didn't move a muscle. Standing near the sink and clutching the blanket he wore like a sarong around his hips, he looked at her with dark, sorrowful eyes. "Please, Amanda, don't be afraid of me. I would never, ever, hurt you. I swear."
"Could've fooled me. Just take a look at the poor wall you took your anger on. You demolished half of it with your bare fist." She motioned to the gaping hole in the wall across from the fridge. "I'm just glad it wasn't my face."
Dalhu winced. "I'm sorry. So sorry that I got angry. But I would've never raised my hand to you. You must believe that. You have nothing to fear. Walls, on the other hand, are a different story." He attempted a smile.
"The mindless beast that you turned into wasn't doing much thinking. You were completely out of control. After you’d left, I hid under the blanket for hours, afraid to fall asleep, just waiting for you to come back and chop off my head…" The expression of horror contorting his face stopped her mid-rant.
"Never! Oh, hell, Amanda, I would rather die a thousand horrible deaths than hurt you. You must believe me…" He reached for her cheek, but she flinched away.
"I'm so sorry." Dalhu let his hand drop by his side. "I'm going to get dressed. When I come back, I'll make you a new pot of coffee." He spun around and headed for the stairs.
Amanda remained glued to her spot until she heard the bathroom's floorboards squeak under Dalhu's weight. Releasing a relieved breath, she pushed away from the corner and with a shaky hand lifted her abandoned sandwich.
Unfortunately, as much as Amanda wanted to believe him, she couldn't trust Dalhu's promises. He might've meant each and every one, but then his intentions were not the problem.
The big question was whether his higher reasoning functioned at all when he raged. Unbalanced and combustive, he was like a stick of dynamite. She figured it wouldn't take more than a tiny spark to ignite him. And like the explosive, Dalhu wouldn't discriminate about what got caught in his circle of destruction.
Still, explosive or not, the man sure as hell was dynamite-hot, Amanda thought as Dalhu came down to the kitchen looking like a model from GQ magazine in a pair of Balmain jeans and a Tom Ford button-down. Not that he didn't look amazing with nothing more than a blanket tied around his hips, but damn… it was her turn to do a little drooling.
Except, where the hell did he get that designer get-up? She frowned. "You certainly cleaned up nicely. Question is, how is it that you get to wear fancy stuff while I'm wearing cheap, butt-ugly sweats?” Indignation overriding trepidation, Amanda placed her hands on her hips and began tapping her bare foot on the linoleum floor.
"Everything is dirty, and I have nothing to wear aside from these faggot clothes. And the only reason I have this shit with me in the first place is that I've been shopping for an appropriate attire to wear to an exclusive club when I got sidetracked by my dream girl. But once the laundry is done, we can both go back to wearing what we had on yesterday."
"Don't get me wrong, you look very nice… not gay'ish at all, very manly in fact… Wait a second, what was that abou
t laundry? Don't tell me you put my things in the washer!"
"Why? What's the problem? I know how to use one."
"My clothes are dry-clean-only, you stupid man. You ruined them!" Amanda threw her hands in the air. "Where is that thing? Maybe I can still salvage something."
Dalhu didn't respond. Instead, he glared at her with a murderous expression on his face—his silence as loud and as terrifying as the worst of thunderstorms.
Oh, boy, I did it again, didn't I.
"I'm so sorry. You're not stupid. Really… it's just an expression. Please don't kill me…" Cringing, she backed into the corner again.
CHAPTER 9: DALHU
What the hell was she apologizing for? He was the one that had failed her yet again, ruining her clothes. Would he ever do anything right for this woman? He'd thought it would be a nice surprise, getting her things clean so she could go back to wearing her fancy clothes. How was he supposed to know that her stuff wasn't washable? It wasn't as if he had ever done a woman's laundry before…
And what the fuck was the 'please don't kill' me about?
"I'm the one who should be apologizing for ruining your things, not you, and I'm angry with myself, not you. But you've got to stop that cowering routine you got going on because that really pisses me off." Dalhu drew in a calming breath and hung his head. "And you are absolutely right. I'm stupid and incompetent. I want to take good care of you, but instead, I keep failing time and again."
He waited for the longest moment for Amanda to say something.
She didn't. Not even when she moved out of that damned corner, walked over to the dining table and plopped down on a chair.
Sitting as she did with her back to him, he couldn't see her face. Was she angry? Sad? Should he go to her? Leave her alone to stew?
But then her shoulders began heaving.
Oh, hell.
He rushed to her side, but she wasn't crying.
Soon, what had started as a soft chuckle turned into a bubbling laugh, her whole body shaking with it.
