“Maybe the Chinese will answer the phone now, too,” mused the head of the NSA.
The video feed changed from green-static to an image of the same four city blocks—now reduced to charred, burning rubble with a sizable crater in the middle.
“Biggest bomb we have that doesn’t glow in the dark,” said the Air Force Chief of Staff with a smirk.
“That…was…awesome…” whispered the President. He almost laughed. “How many did we drop?”
“Just one, sir.”
“One bomb did that? How many bombers went in?”
“In total, three, sir. But we only needed one.”
“Why only one? I thought I said I wanted to send a message?”
“Mr. President,” said the new Secretary of Defense, Haden Brooks, the former undersecretary. “The message was loud and clear: we only need one plane to deliver one bomb and destroy your parliament.” His image snapped fingers. “Just like that. Despite all the chaos you’ve caused on our West Coast, America is still the big dog in the fight. And there’s a lot more where that came from.”
The President looked at his new VP. “I like him.”
“Sir, if I may,” said the Army Chief of Staff. “We’ve got some more things to sort out. For starters, we need a follow up.”
“You mean, hit them again?” asked Jayne.
“Aaahhhh…” stammered the Air Force Chief.
The President leaned around Jayne’s waist and raised an eyebrow at the General’s image. He nodded and cleared his throat.
“Ah, yes…yes ma’am. Hit them again.” The man looked genuinely embarrassed to be talking to the President’s aide.
“Mr. President, I disagree,” said Vice President Hillsen. She turned to face him, her posture stiff—as if every fiber of her being was trying to ignore the woman sitting on the President’s lap. Her eyes flicked to the movement of his hand up Jayne’s blouse. Jayne giggled and squirmed and the VP blushed.
“Let me make contact with some members of the Chinese government that I…” she looked at the faces on the bank of screens that watched her. The Joint Chiefs were frowning. She cleared her throat. “That I…I have some back-channel contacts. Let me use them. If I can get them to broker a cease-fire with the Koreans, we can stop the fighting and figure out a diplomatic solution that would benefit both our countries.”
“Oh, we’ll stop the fighting,” said the Air Force Chief. “As soon as we bomb North Korea back to the stone age.”
“And how long do you think it’ll be, General,” VP said icily. “Before the Koreans try to nuke us, now? Then we nuke them… Tell me, General, who wins in that scenario?” She turned back to the President. “If I can establish a truce so that the Koreans can at least save face…we stand a much better chance at real peace, sir.”
She smiled—if you could call it that—a facial gesture that made her look like a classic witch. All she needs is a cauldron and a pointy hat, the President said to himself with a silent laugh.
The President glanced up at Jayne. He was bored. He wanted her. She winked at him then shrugged. He sighed and looked at the VP. “Ok, go for it. We’ll hold off on further strikes until you can see what you can do. But if your way doesn’t work…”
“Understood, sir. Thank you, Mr. President.”
“What about all those cities on the Eastern Seaboard that the U.N. has taken over?” asked Jayne.
The President sighed. He had almost forgotten about that in all the excitement over the bombing of Pyongyang. “How are the Europeans doing with the riots?”
“Sir,” said the Secretary of Homeland Security. President Barron didn’t like the fact that the hand-wringing bureaucrat made it a point to address him and not Jayne, when it was clearly she who cared enough to ask. “I think this is beyond riots. It’s more like open rebellion. Ever since President Denton’s speech, all hell has broken loose in the treaty-zones.”
“Did that doctored tape really fool all these people?” sighed the President. “The man was clearly dead days ago. Now there’s this broadcast displaying some actor claiming to be Denton—and people are revolting in his name?”
“People are gullible,” mumbled Jayne.
“Is there anything we can do to−”
“Sir,” said the Secretary of Homeland Security. “It’s not a question of what we can do—we can’t do anything. There’s just too many riots. They’re everywhere: Boston, Philly, New York, Chicago, Phoenix, Houston, Dallas, Miami, Charleston, Louisville…if it’s a city bigger than about 10,000 people, there are riots going on. In the treaty-zones, or Occupied Zones, as they’re being called, the people are attacking the Europeans more than before, and they’re starting to really get organized.”
“The Rising,” said the FBI Director.
“What?” asked the President wearily.
“That’s what they’re calling it on the streets. The Rising.”
“I call it insurrection and it will be crushed!” The President proclaimed, waving the absurdity aside. “Riots in America. Ridiculous. Use the military, use the National Guard, just crush them!”
He got a weak chorus of “yessirs” in response. Jayne wiggled in his lap, making him forget what he was mad about. She was so flexible…
“General…” Jayne leaned back into the President’s arms and whispered a question in his ear. She nibbled it before he answered in a shaky voice.
“That’s General Harrison…” he murmured, eyes closed in bliss.
Jayne leaned provocatively forward in the President’s lap and rested her forearms on the table. The President still had one of his roaming hands up her blouse, but she acted as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Then her blouse fell open, causing more than one of the faces on the screens to blush or look away. Only the three military men kept their eyes on her—and narrowed them.
“General Harrison, be a dear and explain to me,” she said, twirling some of the liquid gold that tumbled down from her head in her fingers. “Why do you look so uncomfortable at the President’s suggestion to use the military to put down the rebellion?”
The General adjusted his uniform and cleared his throat. “For starters, ma’am, there are certain rules and time honored customs—”
“You’re talking about posse commitatus,” Jayne said. “It’s irrelevant. The President has already suspended that outdated practice for the duration of the crisis.” She raised her eyebrows, waiting for the General to proceed.
He glared at her. “This is the United States of America. We do not use our own military to impose−”
“Impose what? The will of the people?” she asked coyly.
“The will of one man! President Barron has disbanded Congress−”
“Temporarily. There were credible threats on the lives of the Legislative Branch. He had no choice−”
“Bullshit! Singlehandedly dismissing Congress is precisely the type of activity that is causing our men and women in uniform to question what the hell they’re risking their necks for! It’s why General Rykker has dropped off the grid and why Marine units around the globe are mobilizing. Oh,” he said with a grin. “You didn’t know that, did you?”
“It’s going to get worse, sir,” said Admiral Bennet. “When the fleet Marines find out about the Commandant’s actions…”
“Admiral,” said Jayne in a husky voice that made the President want to melt into a puddle on the floor. “This cannot be allowed to get out of hand.”
The old man laughed. “And what would you have me do about it Miss…whoever the hell you are? Why are we even talking to this woman, Mr. President? This is ridiculous−”
“Because I’m ordering you to talk to her. I have appointed Ms. Reynolds here Special Assistant to the President for Homeland Security and Counter-terrorism. Is there a problem with that?” asked the President in a drunken voice.
“You’re damn right there’s a problem. You look like you’re unfit for the office. Sir. You bring in this…this woman…”
�
��If that’s the way you feel−”
“You are a married man, for Christ’s sake!” bellowed the Admiral.
“I’ll have your resignation on my desk in the hour and I thank you for your service to our country.” The President leaned his head back and called out, “Kill his feed, please.”
The Admiral’s shocked face disappeared as his screen went blank. General Harrison and General Andrews looked like they had been slapped.
“Sir, this is preposterous! It’s unheard of—”
“Kill the good General’s feed, as well. You’re fired too, General Harrison.”
“What!?”
“Kill that one too,” he said, pointing at the Air Force General. “Bye bye, birdie,” chuckled the President.
When all the Joint Chiefs were gone, the President leaned back in his chair. “There, it’s done, just like you asked. Can we leave, now?”
“Not yet, love.” Jayne slowly, ever so carefully to remain in contact with the President as long as possible, extricated herself from his grasping hands. She adjusted her blouse and skirt and tried to appear more businesslike.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I believe the President has something he’d like to say to you.” She turned and smiled at him.
“Oh. Ah, Jayne is going to run these meetings for me from now on. She speaks with my authority. I’m making her my Chief of Staff. Got it?” His hands started to shake. His subconscious mind was screaming that this was wrong, that it was betraying everything he’d ever stood for…but his thirst for Jayne, her body, her scent, her laughter, her touch…it was too much. He’d give anything, do anything to appease her and he knew it. He sold his soul to the Devil and was happy at the bargain.
The room grew uncomfortably quiet. None of the remaining cabinet officials said anything. Most just stared at the President with open mouths. The President felt anger, a strange sensation buried down under waves of pleasure, start to bubble to the surface of his mind. Or was it shame? He leaned forward and pointed at the screens.
“Let me be clear, ladies and gentlemen. I want her to run things,” he nodded towards Jayne. “If that is a problem, I will replace this…entire…fucking…Cabinet… And, in this time of national crisis, I don’t think you want to be out there in the street without a job, without a source of income, without food, water, and protection. Do you?” The President sighed.
“Folks, the world as we once knew it has changed and we must adapt to meet the new challenges we face. In order to get through this period of turmoil, we’re going to have to grit our teeth and muddle through what comes next. Understood?” He sat back, exhausted by his brief discourse, wondering where the words had come from. He was already starting to forget what he had just said.
The chorus of “yessirs” was music to his ears.
Jayne looked slyly at the cabinet screens. She picked up four of the folders she had brought in and spread them out in front of the President, being sure to lean over far enough to grant him a long, lingering view down her shirt. He inhaled deeply, drinking her sweet, fragrent bouquet, and visualized her perfume in his mind’s eye. It was beautiful.
A thought occurred to him: Doesn’t anyone else smell this?
“I have here the top candidates to replace the Joint Chiefs, sir. All men willing to swear loyalty to you and assist in any way possible to get us through this crisis.”
“Outstanding,” he murmured. “Do it.”
“Mr. President,” began the NSA head. “Is this course of action—prudent? I mean, begging your pardon, sir, but these draconian measures are going to have the effect of driving military personnel away. Perhaps even forcing them to go AWOL. I don’t think I’m that far off base with this sir…”
He held up a skeletal hand and stopped her. As she waited, he examined his hand. How the hell did I get so thin? Haven’t I been eating? The hand held up in front of him couldn’t be his own. He was in the prime of his life… Then Jayne's concerned face filled his blurry vision.
“Are you okay, love?”
Her beauty pushed all thoughts and worries over his own health aside like a snow plow clearing a road. He re-focused on the task at hand. Cleaning house. Reginald and Jayne promised he’d be rewarded if he cleared out the traitors and put men loyal to him in office. Jayne had already started rewarding him just before this meeting and promised to continue where they left off, immediately after the meeting. His mind started to drift away to more pleasant thoughts… The shock of the pleasure unleashed by Jayne’s sudden squeeze of his leg brought him crashing back into the present.
“Where…” he sighed. “Where are they going to go, these deserters of yours?”
“Well…”
“Nowhere, that’s where. There are no standing armies of opposition forces—just the North Koreans and the U.N…”
“But the Marines,” began the Secretary of State with an embarrassed smile at Jayne.
“The Marines are of little concern,” Jayne murmured. “They don’t have the resources or the capability to do any serious harm. When the Korean threat is neutralized,” she said with a nod toward the Vice President. “Then we will focus on the U.N. situation and then we’ll deal with these traitors called Marines.”
“Mr. President, Speaker Harris has declared that Denver will be the new capitol and is gathering forces there. It’s likely—”
“The hell with Harris, what are we going to do about this flu?” asked the Secretary of State. “I’m getting some very disturbing reports from the U.N. out of Boston—“
The President was quickly losing patience. “I just fired the entire military leadership. Are you two going to be next?”
The NSA head looked embarrassed, but held her chin up proudly. “No sir, of course not. I will be the first to swear loyalty to you. For the good of the nation,” she added quickly.
“For the good of the nation,” mumbled a handful of the others.
The head of the CIA frowned. “I can’t be a party to this horseshit. You’re establishing a dictatorship, sir, whether intentional or not, and whatever this woman is doing to you while the flu is begging to get out of control—”
“Oh my, you do have an imagination,” giggled Jayne.
“Don’t you snicker at me, you little snake. I know who you are and what you’re up to—you’ll be dealt with in time,” the elder CIA head hissed. The President felt Jayne stiffen, in surprise or anger, he couldn’t tell. But his addled mind was alert enough to know she did not like what the CIA Director was saying.
The somber-looking looking chief-spook turned his stony eyes on the President. “Sir, I have served this country my entire adult life, from the Army to the NSA, to the CIA. I love this nation and have done my best to protect it from day one. I was running spies and renditions when you were still in diapers and I won’t stand here and let you—”
The President frowned and waggled a hand in the air. The CIA feed from Langley went dark. Jane thumbed through her files and slid another folder in front of the President. She tapped the folder with one well-manicured finger. “There’s your new CIA director.”
“Thank you, Jayne.” Suddenly the President could no longer contain his urges. He stood and declared, “This meeting is over. Get to work, people.” He sliced his hand through the air and all the screens went dark.
Then Jayne was in his arms and he was fumbling at her blouse, clawing and tearing at the expensive fabric. He had to have her, now. She tried to be modest and cover herself with her arms. But he was pulling on her clothes with an urgency that surprised even him.
The Vice President cleared her throat primly and frowned at the wanton display of lust in the War Room. The President leered at her and pulled down Jayne’s bra. “Stay if you want, Sandra. I don’t care who knows anymore.” He planted his lips on the tender skin of Jayne's neck. Her gasp sent a thrill down his spine.
He heard the Vice President hastily remove herself from the room as he buried his face in Jayne’s golden mane and devoured her fragrance in deep,
desperate gulps. His arms encircled her writhing, athletic body and he felt like screaming in utter joy.
“We must move faster, love,” she whispered in his ear. “You need to surround yourself with loyal servants, not traitors.”
“Mmmmm….yes….fire them all…pick the ones you like,” he sighed. “Just come here…”
Jayne laughed, a deep, throaty, chest-gripping sound that stole the President’s breath. “Oh, thank you, Mr. President,” she murmured, undressing him slowly. “And now, I believe there’s the matter of a reward we were discussing…”
CHAPTER 27
Salmon Falls, Idaho.
East Face of Morning Glory Peak.
CHAD DOUBLED-OVER AND gasped for breath. He gripped a tree branch he had converted to a walking stick. “How much…farther?” He and Tuck had worked their way down the side of the mountain for what had seemed like hours in an attempt to reach a suitable spot for the Ranger sniper to set up shop.
“All that blood Garza took is really slowin’ you down, huh?” asked the lean Ranger, grinning through his face paint. The whites of his teeth and eyes were in stark contrast to the green and brown patterns smeared on his face. His ghillie suit had been modified with bits of greenery and dried grass as they walked, so that now Chad was afraid if Tuck stopped moving, he’d lose sight of the man.
Chad leaned against a pine tree to catch his breath. He started to see spots. “He took…he took a lot…” he wheezed. The bloodletting had been worth it though, to avoid being snatched into the air by the passing cargo plane. Chad had witnessed the pick-up an hour earlier—the thought that he had originally been the intended victim for that little adventure made his stomach turn.
They had prepared for the Skyhook near the Park Ranger Station, so as Chad ate a few desserts from MRE’s to get his blood sugar levels back up, he was able to sit in the shade and watch the action. Captain Alston was particularly excited, he explained, because he had never seen a Skyhook procedure in action. It was like watching the past come alive, he had told Chad with a smile. Chad still wondered if the good Captain would have been that excited had it been him going up in the air instead of a duct tape-wrapped cooler of blood.
Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga Page 39
