The smile on her lips made Mike very glad she was on his side.
Mike looked at Linda searchingly for a moment, before saying, “Make sure no more prisoners are abused. Period. Understand, LT?” Mike used the nickname Linda’s security people had given her. Although the prisoners couldn’t hear their conversation, several members of Linda’s security team did.
Linda paused briefly before snapping to attention with a growing respect in her eyes. “Yes, Sir, Mike.” That simple act and her three words were repeated throughout the neighborhood several times that day. Anyone who had doubted that Mike was in charge no longer had those doubts.
“Mike,” Linda asked, “follow the SOP as we agreed?” Mike didn’t respond except to nod his head. “We’ll keep their guns, but you still want to leave their trucks and trailers with them when we drop them off?”
Mike nodded again before saying, “Yes, we’re not thieves. Don’t want their guns pointed at us again, but we will not take government trucks and equipment.” After that comment Mike was amazed how incredibly easy it was to be a leader when you had top-notch people working for you. Pressure points, he just needed to make the right decision at critical times.
“All right, guys,” Linda said, “just like we trained.” Looking at two of her people, she said, “Let’s do this in the vans, okay?”
With a short, “Yes, Ma’am,” the two were off on foot to borrow two mini-vans staged nearby in their owner’s driveway. In short order, the home invaders had received treatment for their broken bones and lacerations and placed, on a plastic tarp, in the floor of the vans. Linda had called someone at the National Guard Armory in the state capital to advise them to expect a quiet drop within the next hour. All the vehicles, including the ones brought by Tank’s thugs, were driven to the Armory. Their winter coats, guns, and boots had been confiscated. Two envelopes had been left with the men. One was addressed to the Governor and one to the Commanding Officer. They contained a one page, unsigned letter describing what the men had done and that they were being turned over to the National Guard for appropriate law enforcement handling. It also stated such barbarous behavior would not be tolerated in a society run by laws. Also in each envelope were flash drives containing video evidence shot showing the thug’s illegal entrance to the home and showing still photos of what they had done to the two, elderly, homeowners.
When both mini-vans returned with Linda’s team, they were in a celebratory mood, before Linda sobered them by simply saying, “You know, it isn’t over; not by a long shot.” Although subdued, each man looked around at his friends knowing they had won their first victory.
Mike was highly annoyed when he discovered the next day that the story of what had happened, including photographs, had been put up on social media.
Chapter 49
The New Year - Plus Forty-Two Days
The Fontaine Estate
Outside of San Francisco, California
1610 Hours PST
Walter had awakened with only a minor hangover just after 3:00 p.m., and had spent the past forty-five minutes working up a minor sweat at the estate exercise room. He had gone from machine to machine before settling into the chair of the exercise bicycle for twenty minutes of slow spinning. A popular news channel was on trying valiantly to describe the necessary and brilliant things President Fontaine continued to do to bring America through the crisis. Mixed in was only the occasional mention of what the “opposition press” kept trying to do to divert the country’s attention away from the real problems of gun violence and wealthy people that refused to pay their fair share. Compounding the problems were those that refused to give up to the government necessary supplies to help feed the American people. It had even been necessary to cut back on providing financial support to environmental companies struggling to produce energy in ways that will help stop global warming.
Walter had chuckled under his breath as he thought about what the news wasn’t telling everyone. Over forty percent of the “green” companies had gone bankrupt, with U.S. Department of Justice declining prosecutions into what happened to taxpayer dollars. They had also used “prosecutorial discretion” to decline to follow up on complaints that the IRS, EPA and other federal agencies were using their administrative powers to harass, or in some cases, run anti-Fontaine organizations out of business. The discretion was augmented under the various PEOs brought on by Katherine’s declared State of Emergency.
While riding on the exercise bike, Walter’s mind began to clear and refocused away from the news and onto the maid. He thought to himself, “Her face isn’t much to look at, but her tits do stretch out the uniform top and her lips are full and soft.” He could already feel himself reacting to the thought of her lips sliding up and down. It shouldn’t take much of the cash he had stashed in his bedroom to convince her to help him out.
Although there was an embarrassing bulge in his shorts, no one was present to see it except for the Secret Service asshole and to hell with him, Walter thought as he walked toward his room.
Once in his room, he dialed the house phone and asked for the maid to bring up a bucket of ice and a pitcher of ice water to his bedroom. He didn’t notice the nervousness in her voice as she mumbled in her heavily accented voice, “Yes, Okay.”
In preparation for her arrival, Walter toweled himself off before slipping out of his gym clothes and into a silk robe. As she arrived, she stared at the floor as she said,
“Where you want?”
Walter intentionally said nothing, but pointed his finger at a coffee table in front of the small loveseat, across the room from the big, king-sized, four-poster bed. This caused her to look up into his face where he presented what he believed was his most winning smile. He invited her to sit and enjoy a drink with him. She looked at the floor and attempted to decline, but he insisted.
Surprisingly, the maid took the scotch and downed it with a big gulp. Walter said, “Wow, little lady, I’ve really missed you all these years.” He was even more surprised when she smiled and reached out her hand to stroke his crotch.
Walter didn’t notice the slight tearing in her eyes or the tremble of her chin. If he had, he would have presumed they were excited reactions for what was to come. As she opened his robe and took his member in her hand she suddenly paused to reach into her uniform pocket and bring out a tube of red lipstick. Still smiling, she quickly put on the lipstick, which would have been a better color match for her ten years earlier, when she still had jet-black hair. She would never wear such a color now, with her salt and pepper colored hair.
Of course, Walter didn’t notice nor did he care. All he saw were those bright, red lips. As her head bobbed up and down in his lap, he marveled at the tingle on his member, thinking there must have been some kind of menthol mixed into the lipstick. It took less than thirty seconds before he exploded into her mouth. She tried to pull away then, but he grabbed her wrists and pulled her up onto him as he tried to regain his breath. Holding her against him, he could feel himself growing again, although it felt like it was almost on fire. He then tore off her clothes, not even bothering with her bra, before he pulled her over to his bed and threw her down, face-first. He then began to enter her prone form from the rear, pumping for a long time, until he again exploded into her.
Walter was shocked to wake up thirty minutes later to find himself lying on top of her still form. His crotch seemed to be on fire. Looking down, he could see the entire area grossly swollen and inflamed. He reached over to the maid’s still form and turned her over. Her tongue was sticking way out of her mouth and it was black. Her lips were also black and much of her skin around her mouth was streaked with black lines. He could also tell she was quite dead. She did not breathe and a quick listen to her heart found no beat.
In a panic and nearly d
elirious with his own pain, all he could think about was that he needed to get her body out of the house. With his robe hanging open, he wrapped her up in a sheet and stumbled his way through his bathroom and out a seldom-used servant’s door to a stairway that lead past the estate kitchen and down to his massive garage. Somehow he managed to negotiate the stairs without falling, knocking her head on the handrail several times. In his garage, he stumbled to the first vehicle he came to, a vintage Lincoln Limousine convertible dating back to his first campaign for Mayor of Sacramento, California. It was kept in pristine, running condition and still bore the hand-painted slogans, “Fontaine for Mayor” on the sides.
Walter’s delirium and pain had increased to the point where he no longer consciously thought about, or cared what he was doing. He fired up the Lincoln, inched toward the door until it automatically opened, and picked up speed as he wound his way along the driveway to the front gate of the estate. Secret Service agents guarding the gate stood in the driveway with hands up as they saw their protectee approach at a high rate of speed. He never slowed down as he smashed his way through the wrought-iron gates, turning onto the four lane toward the shopping center. The older, heavier vehicle was able to crash through the gates, unlike any of his modern vehicles. The Secret Service agents dove out of the way as he sped by. Their security mission focused on threats from the street and not the First Man driving a veritable tank of a vehicle through the gates.
Within seconds, two Secret Service SUVs screamed down the driveway in pursuit. Less than one quarter mile down the road, they saw Walter’s limo had crashed into the coffee shop on the corner of a busy intersection. Before they could get out of their vehicles, over a dozen patrons had pulled out their phones and were tape recording the whole scene. They could just hear Walter’s delirious voice over the pandemonium, “I think the bitch had me killed!”
When the Secret Service Agents arrived, they immediately attempted to establish a perimeter. The agents also began to seize the video-taping cell phones of those closest to the crash. Seeing the phones being seized, several of the younger people decided to quickly run away and almost immediately posted their videos on social media.
. . .
The White House
2035 Hours EST
Katherine had gone to bed early with a bad head cold when she was awakened out of a sound sleep by the annoying ring of the phone on her nightstand. She was instantly awake because for that phone to ring unexpectedly meant something extremely important, up to, and including nuclear war. Her response into the phone was, “What?”
The current head of her White House Secret Service detail’s voice said, “Madam President, my Director is on his way over with an analyst. Madam President it is not good news concerning your husband. All available information will be available to you in ten minutes.”
“I’ll receive him in my sitting room.” With that short comment, Katherine hung up the phone. She couldn’t keep a small smile from her face as she considered the bastard had probably died painfully, and that the Goddamned Chinese bastards had just lost most of their clout over her. She decided to wear her dark robe over her nightgown to receive the Director. She then called the White House switchboard and asked them to locate and have Susan Cassel come there immediately.
Twenty five minutes later, with Susan Cassel standing by her side, Katherine asked the Secret Service Director and his analyst to come into her sitting room. Without ceremony, Katherine said in a soft voice, “Director, please tell me what happened.”
“Madam President,” he said with all the solemnity he could muster, “I’m sorry to inform you that your husband, Walter is dead.”
He paused to allow the President to respond, but then continued when there was no reaction from her. “Madam President, the details are sketchy at best at this point, however we know that approximately two hours ago, Mr. Fontaine drove his old campaign Lincoln Limousine through the locked gates of your San Francisco estate and crashed it into a coffee house approximately one quarter mile down the road.”
Katherine’s demeanor went from concerned concentration to complete shock. “What did you say?! He drove through the gates? Crashed?”
The analyst continued, “Yes, Madam President. There are several other crucial details to report.” He paused and then continued, “Your husband died from apparent poisoning and was wearing only a silk bathrobe that was hanging open. In addition, the dead, nearly-naked body of your Chinese born maid was partially covered by a sheet in the back seat of the convertible. Madam President, despite the best efforts of the security team, several civilians present were able to depart the area with cell phone video recordings of your husband and the naked maid in the crashed vehicle.”
“Best Efforts!” Katherine screeched the words as loud as she could. “You people were supposed to watch the son-of-a-bitch! It was your job! What else could possibly go wrong?” Katherine was enraged to the point of reacting and not thinking when Susan’s touch on her shoulder.
“Madam President,” Susan said softly, “you may need some time to reflect on everything that has happened. Please give me twenty minutes and I will bring you all the details you will need at this time. Okay?”
Katherine looked into Susan’s eyes with as close to relief and affection as was possible for her. Reaching up to Susan’s face and stroking it, Katherine said, “Yes, dear, please do that. I need a few minutes to myself.”
Susan rose and escorted the Director and his analyst to a small conference room, just outside of the Personal Quarters area of the White House. Although shocked herself, she had been able to compose herself during the minutes it took to get settled.
“All right, gentlemen, give it to me again. Slowly.”
The analyst gave a full narrative of everything they had discovered in chronological order. This time, he added the blackening of Walter’s crotch, the same for the maid’s lips and the fact that her lipstick was being rushed to the FBI laboratory as quickly as possible. Inferences were presented as just that, inferences without hard facts to back them up, yet. When they advised of the social media posts, they also mentioned Walter’s last words, “The bitch had me killed.”
The Director insisted they had locked Walter down with everything short of shackles. The maid had been part of the house staff for over twenty years and had been vetted as well as possible, considering the, “Presidential restrictions on our ability to vet the Fontaine staff.”
“Was it the Chinese?” Susan asked the question while boring into the Director’s eyes.
“Susan, at this point we don’t know. I personally highly doubt it, but you may know more about that than I.” The look in the Director’s eye was both probing and offensive.
The comment caught Susan off guard. Under the circumstances, it would appear that the Secret Service Director was another that knew about Walter’s dalliance with the Chinese whore.
Susan didn’t relish the briefing she would have to give to Katherine.
Chapter 50
The New Year - Plus Forty-Three Days
Command Bunker
Outside of Beijing, China
0745 Hours Local Time
Song sat behind his desk watching the monitor he had ordered Wong to install in his bunker office. It gave him access to the entire security camera system in the bunker complex, including inside and outside. Watching the dawn break in the mountains was how he most often used the system. A few minutes later Wong announced the arrival of an officer from the PLA General Staff. The officer gave his briefing concerning the readiness for the upcoming invasion. The logistics of amassing an invasion force across the straight from Formosa were immense and Song had expected to find the list of critical issues extensive. He was pleased, however, that the officer appeared to be provi
ding accurate information that conformed with what Lao had told him an hour earlier. He took some solace knowing the PLA was preparing for an invasion anticipated to take over a month to complete. In his estimation, the fight should take less than one week and possibly as little as a few days. It would be very bloody, but the Nationalists would finally capitulate or die. The General Staff did not know the Americans would be sitting on the sidelines while the invasion and occupation were launched and were, therefore, planning on being required to fight them as well.
After Song dismissed the officer, he took stock of the situation. Although it still burned to urinate through his re-attached penis, and his various cuts and bruises itched incessantly, he no longer needed any strong pain killers. His brain functioned at an acceptably high level and Lao’s efforts had been effective in keeping his enemies off balance and, at least for the time being, slowed their assassination attempts. It did trouble him that he was not ruling from his seat of power in Beijing, but with secure teleconferencing, coupled with his own spies and those of the MSS. He was able to see most of the political moves and maintain a general level of control. In the back of his mind was also the belief that Black Orchid would manifest itself within the next few weeks, if not sooner. If he could be sure, there would be no need for the invasion. Lao had been correct. He did have an uncanny ability to intuit just the right action to better China’s goals. If only it worked to warn him of personal attacks.
The Final Proclamation (An America Reborn Thriller Book 2) Page 26
