by Ward, Steve
“This is serious shit, Christina,” Michael cautioned. “We’re talking balance of power. We’ve got no business getting in the middle. If we go along with the General and this thing blows up, we could be executed for treason.”
“And if we don’t? Wait just a minute,” she looked Wallace in the eyes, “something smells fishy here. If you need evidence on Scott, why didn’t you just go in and get it yourself. His mansion was completely unprotected, no security at all.”
“Ah ha! So you’re admitting you broke into his house.”
All of a sudden Christina felt very uncomfortable with General Wallace. “I’m not saying that at all, I’m only asking you, if this is so damned critical to the future of the United States, why didn’t you go in?”
“Are you kidding? Do you think I could get approval for an illegal break-in? Have you ever heard of Watergate? And why should we, when we have concerned citizens like yourself who are more than willing to do our dirty work? Now, Miss Matthews, it’s time to shit or get off the pot. Somebody’s got to stand up for this country; our very way of life depends on it. I want to know what you found!” he raised his voice in anger.
She noticed his eyes shifting back and forth to her briefcase. “But how do we know we’re not being set up? How do we know you’re not wearing a wire?”
Wallace steamed, huffed and puffed, but he didn’t answer.
There was a pregnant pause as she hesitated. It was a tough call. Her gut told her to go along with Wallace, but something had changed about his disposition. What if her gut was wrong? “General would you be so kind to step outside for about ten minutes? I’m sure you understand. Time is of the essence, and I need to make sure I make the right call here. Just want to talk it over with Michael in private.” She was well aware he could simply take her briefcase by force.
“No problem,” Wallace replied. “I’ll go outside for a breather, be back in ten minutes.” He got up and walked out of the room.
Christina overheard him through the door.
“Why don’t you boys take a break? There’s a cafeteria just down the hall. I can assure you the young lady is quite safe in the Judge’s chambers.”
She could hear them walking away, joking around and growling for food. She looked at Michael and worried.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“I don’t know. For once in my life I don’t know what to do. I was very confident in Wallace before, but something’s changed. He’s giving me the creeps. I can’t put my finger on it, but what would he have to gain by lying to us. I know he hates the President, but he has some solid points. Why hasn’t Gleason acted? Why hasn’t the President gotten back to us on Rhani? What about that Iranian satellite?”
“Tell me, exactly how do you know it threatens the United States?”
“Because he said so.”
“Who?”
“Wallace.”
“Yes, and who was with him at the time?”
“Scott.”
“Add it up, Christina. We’ve gotten all our information from Scott and the General, and we know one thing for sure: Scott’s a crook. We haven’t gotten anything from the President, so all we have is hearsay from a crook and an Air Force General hungry for power. I’m concerned that Wallace might use this information to nail us. He might just want to get us out of the way.”
“Dang, Michael, that sounds quite logical. But we have to do something, and,” she looked around, “well, we’re trapped.”
Michael walked to the back of the room and disappeared out a back door. In just a few seconds he came back. “There’s a way out. It leads to a bathroom with a large sliding window. We’ve got a five minute lead, so I say we get the hell out of here and think on this.”
Christina raked the papers back into her briefcase and turned to Michael. At least he was decisive, and, right or wrong, that felt good. She truly didn’t know what to do. “But where will we go?”
“My uncle has a cabin up on Lake Lanier, just north of Atlanta. We’ll hike out of here on foot, get a cab and figure it out. That’ll give us time to think.”
Charged with both fear and adrenalin, she couldn’t think of a better plan, so they were off.
They speed-walked back in the direction they had come. It was only about a quarter-mile to the guard shack at the entrance of Fort McPherson. When they noticed the single guard talking to someone in a car, they simply slipped passed and marched off campus. It wasn’t far until they found a small strip-mall crawling with Christmas shoppers.
Christina knew they could be tracked by ATM and credit card transactions, so they took a taxi to Hartsfield International and rented a compact car on Christina’s VISA. After a short brainstorming session, they purchased some maps and drove 200 miles south on I75 to Valdosta, Georgia. Driving around the little town after dark to find the appropriate banks, they withdrew $400 each from ATMs. Another 100 miles south, in Pensacola, Florida they filled up the rental car on Michael’s credit card and spent the rest of the night reversing course, all the way back to Atlanta. Sixty-five miles further north put them in Gainesville, Georgia at Lake Lanier.
After a long and weary twenty hours of driving, they crawled down a winding gravel road to an isolated log cabin surrounded by heavy woods, right on the water’s edge. Michael had visited his uncle’s cabin many times. He was familiar with the layout and the location of the hidden key. It was clear no one had been there for some time, so he found the key under the mat and opened the front door. Luckily the utilities were active so it was a simple matter of getting everything turned on. It was a crisp November morning, and Michael built a roaring fire in the huge, stone fireplace. Christina smiled as he pointed out the bearskin rug. The clean smell of burning pine filled the air.
Pure heaven, she thought.
The situation was grim. They were smack dab in the middle of a cataclysmic terrorist plot on the one hand and a Coup d’etat on the other. To add a little more intrigue, the actions or inactions of the President made him suspect. It was quite possible that the Islamic terrorists, the Air Force, the Administration and the Director of NASA all wanted their heads.
A complicated mess, Christina was grateful Michael had shown the ingenuity and courage to take them out of harm’s way, at least for the moment. She looked around at the beautiful abode. It was much more than a log cabin. More like a log castle.
“Damn, wish I could’ve been a fly on the wall,” Michael chuckled. “I bet that General shit a brick. Wonder what he said to your bodyguards?”
“Yeah,” Christina agreed, “right after he told them I’d be safe.”
“When this hits the papers, can you imagine how many folks will be heading down to Florida?”
“Let’s see,” she tried to think, “FBI, CIA, NASA, the Air Force Cyber Command, the Air Force Security Agency, the Civil Air Patrol and don’t forget the Department of Homeland Security,” she laughed out loud. “The Florida State Police won’t know what hit ‘em.”
In the flickering light of the roaring fire, she thought Michael looked like a high school boy. With black ash on the side of his nose, he did have a baby-face. But, truth was, she found him devilishly attractive. She walked over and brushed his hair to one side, licked her thumb and rubbed the black soot off of his face. Staring into his eyes she purred, “So tell me now, my big, bad nuclear physicist. How does it feel to be my hero?”
“I don’t know,” he grinned, “I’ll tell you in the morning.”
He cupped his hands around her face and kissed her. It was a gentle kiss on the lips. She kissed him back. The world seemed to fade away as he kissed her again, harder this time exploring with his tongue. She responded as his hands slid down her lower back. The fire crackled and popped as her right hand went around to the back of his head and pulled him in. He reacted in a blaze of passion, hands all over her. A searing fire began to boil. She could feel his hard body pressing, his essence expanding between them.
It was cold in that cabin, but no one s
eemed to notice as clothes went flying. It looked like a Wal-Mart 70% off sale, the day after Thanksgiving. Shirts, sox, bras, and pants went everywhere. In a matter of seconds she was lying in the middle of that bearskin rug with nothing on but a smile, beckoning him with both arms. He fell on her, and his warm, manly skin set her afire. On such a cold day she was hot as a firecracker. She ran her tongue all over his face.
“Take me, Michael. Take me now. I mean. . .right now!”
“Hey, what’s the rush?” he teased as he backed off and waved his hands tracking her form in the dim glow. He scanned her head to toe. “Always wondered what was under that space suit,” he grinned. He raised his eyebrows, “Don’t quite understand why they called you Stick though.”
“Come on Michael, now!” she commanded. She had never been a patient woman, and her body yearned for him. She reached down and said, “Oooh, you are the big boy, aren’t you?”
She tried to restrain herself. Come on Christina, don’t hurt his feelings; let him do his man thing. She closed her eyes and felt his hand travel the full length of her body, lightly caressing her sensitive spaces. A wave of delight rolled up her spine. Her legs instinctively parted, knees elevated. Fingers traveled around her inner sanctum slowly in smaller and smaller concentric circles until they suddenly stopped. She arched high into the air as he found her core. She tensed and completely lost it.
“Oh God! Okay, that’s it. Do it!”
She thought she would explode. She’d had enough messing around and yanked him down on her. Reaching blindly she guided him home. Instantly the two were one, and the action was furious. She rolled him over and took control, only to be rolled back beneath. As they continued their wrestling match, all the problems of her world were naught. There was only one world now, and it was between her legs. There was no terrorism, no corrupt government, no ambitious military, no space program, not even a planet Mars to conquer. Only one thing was real: red, hot passion, and she had only one ambition.
She groaned as he entered her over and over. Before he could establish a good rhythm, she felt her internal combustion system building to a new pinnacle, one she had never known. “Sooo big,” she purred. There were the sounds of sex, slapping and squishing. There was the smell of sex, pungent scents. There was the vision of sex, abject lust imaged behind closed eyelids.
“My God!” she squealed again as every feeling in her body rushed to one focal point. Her head went from side to side as she lifted his frame. “I’m there,” she whispered and then shouted, “I’m there!” The feeling was so intense she saw flashing, brilliant lights. She pushed so hard she feared she might lose him, but he held strong. Contorted in a huge spasm, she groaned, “Ga, Ga, oh Gawd!”
“Nung, uuungh,” prehistoric sounds spewed from above.
She wanted to say his name, but she was suddenly confused. Who? Lazer? No. Who? Oh yeah, Michael. “Michael!” she screamed as her entire body shot to the moon and slowly drifted back toward earth.
He fell on her in a dead heap. No one moved; no one said a word. The moment was to be savored, not analyzed. Don’t think Christina, don’t think, she begged herself. The truth was, she was incapable of thinking. Her mind went blank as her whole body pulsed with involuntary tics. Michael was heavy but warm against the cold cabin air. She prayed he wouldn’t move. The sheer exhaustion of the past twenty-four hours washed over her like a tidal wave, and she tumbled into a deep, deep sleep.
Chapter Ten
A warm, cozy feeling engulfed her, the simple and wonderful essence of childhood. She was sitting on the edge of the counter helping her mother. Mommy was young and beautiful and so full of life. The mixer whirred, and the chocolate dotted dough looked yummy. Mommy took a spoon and filled it, handing her a gooey snack. Neither spoke. They didn’t have to. It was the silent Karma of a thousand generations. It said she would grow up one day and have her own children, so she should learn how to bake cookies. It’s what women did, create sweet things and make people happy. Mommy smiled and bent down to take a sheet out of the oven. Mmmm, a smell like no other, one she would never forget as long as she lived. It was the smell of hot, chocolate chip cookies. She had never been so happy.
She twisted around to reach for her milk and slipped off the counter head first into a river of blackness. Panic seized her chest as she fell, twisting and turning, tumbling through space. She reached out and clawed at the air, but there was nothing to grab. All she could do was scream, “Heeelp meee!”
Christina jumped with a start. Her heart pounded, but she didn’t know why. She peeled herself away from Michael and crawled around and gathering bits of apparel. Her dreams were a blur, but she had a strange craving for chocolate.
“Wow, I wonder who lost their mind and threw these clothes all over the place,” she chuckled.
Michael began to stir. “Damn, my butt’s about to freeze off, gotta get the heat cranked up in here.” He got up buck-naked and began moving about putting his shirt back on.
“So is there anything to drink in this joint?” she said staring at his crotch. “I could use a stiff one.”
“A stiff one?” he laughed. “Yeah, there used to be a fully stocked liquor cabinet. . .over there. Looks like my uncle has just about everything covered. What would you like?” Michael walked across the room to the huge wet-bar, squatted down and opened the cabinet.
“Any scotch?”
“Let’s see what we have here. How about twelve-year-old Glen Livet?” he asked.
“Sure, if that fridge works, would you pour a couple of shots over some crushed ice?”
All kinds of confusing thoughts flew through her mind, and she was getting a headache. There were too many issues to think about. Her whole body ached, and she just wanted to shut down the senses.
“You got it, ma’am. Good idea, I’ll have one too.”
She thought the fire was so inviting with the smell of burning wood. She sat in a big cushy chair. As the cabin heat came up she finally relaxed. Definitely time to unwind, she thought as she looked at the scotch. She almost never drank hard liquor, especially on the rocks. After a deep breath she took a stiff drink and let it burn all the way down her gullet. It was smooth but very strong, and she struggled not to choke. Wow! The numbing feeling was almost instantaneous, and suddenly she was warm both inside and out. She took another drink, and the problems of the world started floating away. Ahhh. A blanket of calm came over her; she laid her head back and studied the surroundings. It was a beautiful cabin, very homey and extremely well decorated. There were stuffed ducks and fish, the overall appearance quite manly. But the art, colors and trim struck her as feminine. Definitely has the touch of a woman. I wonder who?
“Is your uncle married?” Christina asked. “This place is really fixed up nice.”
“No, he’s single, but he was dating an interior decorator, and she did it for him a few years back. It’s a great place to visit, and there’s a boat in the private dock fully equipped for fishing. I might get a look at that in the morning.”
“But what about General Wallace and. . .”
“Wait!” he cut her off extending a hand as though he were directing traffic. “I have a suggestion. Let’s try to forget all the shit we’re in for at least twelve hours. We’re perfectly safe here; no way anyone can track us down after all that maneuvering. Let’s just enjoy the evening. We can get more serious about plans tomorrow.”
The alcohol took control, and the room started a slow spin. She was incapable of debate. “Okay,” she sighed. “I don’t have a clue how we’ll sort out this mess, but it might do us good to clear our heads for a few hours. Look, there’s a Scrabble game; why don’t we play some Scrabble and then go to bed.”
“We can’t go to bed in the middle of the day.”
“Why not, I’m exhausted,” she answered.
“Wait just one minute; you’re a woman right?” He looked completely clueless. “Don’t you want to discuss all the nuances of what we just did? You know, our relationshi
p? Where it’s been, where it’s going and all that crap women find so fascinating?”
“Relationship-malationship,” she slurred. “All I know is we’re in this shit-hole together, and it’s bigger than the both of us. I don’t want to talk about strings and commitments or any other such nonsense, so let’s just leave it at that. Okay?”
“I got a better idea, why don’t we finish our drinks and go find the master bedroom. Scrabble is for old people.”
