RITUAL SACRIFICE: The Ultimate Alpha Female & Political Corruption on the West Coast (Noah Reid Action Suspense Thriller Series Book 5)

by Wesley Robert Lowe

  “Krystal, we are here to govern, not to be a wuss any time there’s a problem. Sandy’s been in the trenches for years. She knows what’s up, and as vice chair she can easily step in.”

  “I agree,” says Ian. “We don’t need to hang around any longer than we have to.”

  “We should respect the elders,” insists Krystal.

  “Hiram was an old fart who was here too long, and his main concern was how to screw everybody for his own gain. Not to mention I have no desire to hang around any longer than I have to. I’ve got meetings lined up solid at home after today, and I’ve got to get back,” says Thomas.

  “It’s not right,” says Krystal.

  Sandy knows that Susannah the bimbo will side with Krystal to create a stalemate. It’s been a perpetual problem with this committee.

  Sandy folds her hands and speaks solemnly. “It’s not right that my taxes have to keep on bailing Coyote River out because your people haven’t managed it properly. It’s not right that we deny your people jobs, good jobs, when they are just a committee vote away. Krystal, I’m on your side. We are all on your side. Most importantly, the credit union is going to foreclose on ,Coyote River in a few days and we need to have a new plan in place. That’s why we are having this emergency meeting.”

  Krystal inhales. Of course, Sandy is right. “Okay.”

  As she is already vice chair, it’s a virtual rubber stamp to get Sandy approved as the new chair of this special committee.

  “Okay, let’s get the show on the road,” says Sandy.

  This committee is off camera and off microphone and nothing is recorded. While this is totally against the law, Hiram insisted on this, saying that it would lead to more “open and honest discussion.” What this really meant is that any of them could “slag the Injuns” when Krystal wasn’t there, which was too often.

  “We’re all sorry for what happened to Hiram. He was a trusted friend and mentor to all of us, an outstanding example of what a politician should be like. Oregon has lost one of its great citizens.”

  Of course, no one believed a word of what Sandy said. And no one really believed that it was a random accident caused by terrible bad luck. Hiram’s graft was pretty obvious. Even with family money behind him, Hiram could not support a home in the city, a country home, a luxury condo for a mistress, a Lincoln Town Car for her and twin Caddies for him and his wife without outside help.

  However, there was one thing for sure: Sandy, despite her sexual preferences that some in the committee object to, was hardworking, honest and fair.

  ***

  But that doesn’t mean she’s going to get her way through sheer force of reputation.

  This now-six-person committee meeting is proving to be a much harder slog than Sandy thought that it would be. For one thing, Sandy actually has to pay attention to what everyone is saying. As vice chair, she could tune out whatever babble Krystal, Susannah or Thomas were spewing out. But now, she couldn’t just pretend to be listening, she actually had to listen. As the gobbledygook exits her colleagues’ mouths, she quickly develops an appreciation for Hiram’s patience—and a new understanding of his often ham-fisted style.

  What she’d like to do more than anything else is to cut off discussion and go straight to the presentation of her own proposal. However, she’s been around long enough to know that would never fly. She’s going to have to wait. And wait.

  As Ian prattles on for fifteen minutes straight, complete with a PowerPoint presentation, on the economic benefits of legalized gambling, not only for Native Americans but all Oregonians, Sandy’s mind drifts to the story Prez told her about her youth.

  She hasn’t been able to get it out of her mind. Like everything to do with Prez, it’s a tempting fire that one can’t resist wanting to burn your hands with.

  Twenty Years Ago

  Sifu Ling had never had such a dedicated student before. This twelve-year-old girl had come seven days a week for over five years.

  And she did not ask for special treatment either, although she could have. Sifu didn’t know who her father was, but he knew that he was a Shaolin kung fu master even more powerful than himself. However, because the father was rarely in the Seattle area, her martial arts training was entrusted to him.

  Sadly, she had no interest in the spiritual side of the Shaolin. Meditation, Buddhism and prayer were of little interest to her. In fact, it seemed to Sifu that the girl hated anything that resembled spiritual or moral training.

  But she was totally dedicated to martial arts. He put her through his most rigorous training, and she came every day for three hours. She perfected her forms, her stances, her defensive tactics… Her acrobatic and callisthenic abilities were worthy of the Beijing acrobatic troupe. She also exercised with resistance bands to build up her strength—she did not want to use weights because she didn’t want to have muscles! So smart for a girl so young.

  She was better and stronger than boys ten years older than her. But the boys kept coming and coming. After all, this girl was extraordinarily beautiful.

  From the very start, she was fascinated by death and how to kill. Now, this young girl was so advanced, Sifu jokingly told her that her body was a “lethal weapon” and should register it with the police.

  That day, she told the sifu after class that she would not be coming anymore. She had learned all she needed to know.

  The next day, her mother was found dead. Police, who investigated her death, said that the murderer was a man of incredible strength and power. It seemed that every bone in the mother’s body was broken and that she suffered immense pain due to a prolonged death—maybe as much as ten hours.

  When the police asked the young innocent girl if she had seen anything unusual, she said, “No.” When asked if her mother had any enemies, she answered, “Not that I know of.” The police nodded sympathetically and did not want to pressure the frail child anymore. They apologized for having to interrogate her and when asked who would look after her, she told them that her father who had an emergency business meeting in Hong Kong had arranged for her to live with a kindly couple who lived close to the school she was attending. Satisfied, the police left and told her to “Be careful of strangers.”

  There was no kindly couple. The young girl was self-sufficient and managed completely on her own. And Prez never had to suffer another moment of the years of sexual abuse from the woman who bore her again.

  ***

  Wednesday Morning—Oregon

  There is a private room off the main sanctuary where a select group of six gathers. This is the Sanctum. Some of them have been there before. For others, it’s their first time in the inner core.

  As mesmerizing and alluring as the images and artifacts of the main sanctuary are, the pictures here are even more compelling.

  There are no images or statues of dragons featured here. There are no live Komodos in here. There are no holograms of the famed lizards of yore wandering here.

  But the legendary creatures are here—subordinate to their queen.

  This room is a tribute to Prez, the fulfillment of every man and woman’s sexual fantasy.

  And implausibly and improbably, she has done this without being nude in any of the fifty images in the room. It’s a tribute to her creativity and brilliance that she has exploited and taken full control of the saying, “The sexiest part of the body is the mind.”

  Show a taste of the potential and let imaginations run wild.

  There are pictures of Prez with baby Komodos covering her breasts.

  Prez wearing handcuffs and using them to choke a lizard whose fiery breath shadows her nipples.

  Prez, with her nude body perfectly positioned to reveal nothing, using six-inch high heels to pierce multicolored dragon’s leathery skin at its heart.

  Prez tied up with translucent rope showing the outline and skin tones of her perfect body deep throating a creature.

  Prez with arms folded commandingly across her breasts, wearing tantalizing black fish
net stockings while squeezing a giant red lizard whose head hides her most private parts.

  Every one of the images performs its intended function: to drive anyone who sees them to do whatever Prez wants so that they will have the hope of ripping the dragon away and replacing it with themselves.

  The dragon cult reinforces the mystique of Prez, the sexual goddess. She sees how religious charlatans of all types are able to dupe their followers into doing things that no sane person would ever do.

  Murder, torture, sacrificing themselves… they do this for a cause, and that’s the kind of committed person she needs. People who will follow her to the ends of the earth. Who will kill upon her demand. Who will betray their families when she asks them. Who will martyr themselves so that Prez might be honored.

  That’s who the members of her cult are. They are worshippers of Prez, the high priestess.

  And their reward?

  Occasional moments of sexual bliss given by the goddess herself in the middle of the room at a single altar, ten feet long and five feet wide. The altar is shaped like a Komodo dragon with a fierce head and long tail, but the middle of the altar’s surface is flat with and ideally cushioned for divine sexual expression.

  The small group that she’s meeting with now comprise several of her ultimate devotees. People who have the desire and ability to help her out to fulfill this ambition of getting her into legalized gambling.

  Coyote River would just be a first step. Across America, there are scores of other casinos, Native, and non-Native, that are struggling or losing money. When, not if, she turns Coyote River around, every one of them will call her, plead with her to take over operations at whatever figure she names.

  But she’s got to pull off Coyote River first, and she’s got to make this group of five so tied to her that they will always want to be tied to her. They each have a special function that will help propel her to success.

  A chauffeur. A banker. A politician. A video editor. An IT expert.

  None of them are rich. She’s had her share of gazillionaires, and she’s not interested. They all think that with enough money, she can be bought, but that definitely is not Prez.

  None of them are famous. One thing she learned by osmosis from her father is that fame is dangerous. You are in everyone’s sights. While some are true believers, there are enough crazies and jealous types just waiting to shoot you down, either literally or figuratively.

  No, her small posse has talents or connections she needs. She doesn’t use them often. Familiarity breeds contentment—and contempt. She doesn’t want that. She needs them to be at the edge all the time, so worried of poor performance that they are always going to give their best.

  That’s the same reason she doesn’t dole out her favors with frequency. If she regularly satisfied their sexual cravings and craziness, she would no longer be special; she would lose power.

  No, to make sure that her acolytes continue to revere and obey her, she must be a virtually unattainable goal. She must be innovative in presentation and creative in execution.

  Erotic… Dangerous… Unique… with a promise that an experience lies before them that will be unbelievable, unforgettable… something so special you’d give up your life just for a taste.

  But it goes far from a momentary gratification of a libido gone berserk. Those that are that easily satisfied are useless to her. She needs people with ambition. She knows that to control them, there must be something tangible in it for them.

  Like a bank loan officer who wants to be a bank manager.

  Or a chauffeur who wants to be in charge of transportation detail for the state Legislature.

  Or a video editor who wants enough money to make his own feature film.

  Like an IT expert who wants to head up a new Internet startup.

  Like a politician who wants to be a governor.

  Like a tribal council member who wants to be chief.

  With that, she stands in front of the room with all eyes fixed on her.

  Prez wears a power black outfit this morning.

  Her mid-thigh-length skirt shows off her perfectly toned, long, smooth-skinned legs.

  She wears a sheer tailored black jacket without a blouse, showing off the faint outlines of her peaked nipples.

  Her shimmering almond eyes are accented with teal on the lower eyelid, and crimson covers her, sensuous full lips.

  With just a hint of sandalwood fragrance, Prez, like always, is the perfect package.

  The sexual tension is unbearable for the men, and Prez will keep it that way. She has always kept in control, never revealing her inner self to anyone.

  ***

  Diversity wreaks havoc with the mainstream, or it might be better said that the mainstream is being redefined by diversity. With immigration from everywhere, new pressures mount on politicians—the new Americans want to shape their new homes in ways that are conforming to their beliefs.

  While Buddhists, Hindus, Muslims and Christians may have very strong differences on the afterlife and what constitutes virtue in regards to gambling, they are virtually united in their condemnation of the moral degradation caused by the demon slot machines and gaming tables. These supposed defenders of virtue have lobbied their committee members hard against supporting any changes to the present system. No expansion. No changes to the present. While unspoken, what they hope is that the Native Americans, left to their own devices, will mismanage every casino in the state into oblivion, and nothing will take their place.

  On the other hand, the growing number of Chinese in Oregon demands a voice, too. It seems that every Chinese has a gambling disorder, and the ones living here demand the convenience. If they had their way, gambling would expand to include convenience stores and supermarkets. Why not stick a video terminal next to the coffee machine?

  All of these issues are thrown into the discussion of how to solve the problem of Coyote River. Unlike Hiram, who insisted on focus, Sandy allows the discussion to get hijacked and sidetracked. Susannah’s inanities and Krystal’s off-topic pillorying of the white man mingle in with concrete pros and cons of allowing Prez to bail out Coyote River Casino and manage it on the tribe’s behalf.

  Like all politicians, none of them will make a decision based on the good of society. The only question running through the minds of the committee members is, “Will I get reelected if I go along with this?”

  Cynical? Maybe. True? It’s politics. Who knows?

  The debate has gone on all day, the committee members have their emotions and decisions bounce like an internal yoyo.

  At 4 in the afternoon, Susannah says, “We need to go home and get a good night’s rest so we can think about it and have clear head for tomorrow.”

  “My sitter is going to kill me if I’m late again,” says Krystal.

  “I already said I’ve got to get home,” says Ian.

  “This is the same old, same old that we’ve talked about here for three years,” says Sandy. “We can’t delay a decision for the sake of the tribe.”

  It’s the last thing any of them want to do, but it’s the right thing.

  They suffer another two more hours of rehashing their intransigent positions. Now everyone is exhausted, and now Sandy is ready.

  “Thanks, everybody, for giving your opinions.”

  “Opinions are cheap,” snarls a testy Thomas.

  “Maybe, but I wanted you all to say your piece before I say what I want to say.”

  “What are you saying?” exclaims Susannah, worried about missing her masseuse appointment.

  “I’ve been thinking that our problem is that we are just tinkering with what is there. There needs to be a radical shift, thinking outside of the box.”

  Groans from around the table.

  “Why the hell didn’t you say something sooner?” yells Thomas.

  “Because as the new chair, I wanted to do something that all of you complained about. No one has ever had their full say because for whatever reason, Hiram cut them
off. None of you can make that complaint now, and it’s my turn.”

  Looks that could kill are directed at Sandy. She just ignores them and proceeds.

  “I want to change the proposal from simply allowing Prez to pay off the current debts of the tribe and then taking a management fee from this point on.”

  “To what, Sandy?” asks Carol cautiously.

  “I want us to sell the Coyote River outright to Prez. Not only will the tribe’s debts be exonerated, there will be a huge windfall of cash for state coffers, which let’s be honest, are suffering badly right now. We will then take an ongoing 15 percent of all profits of the Coyote River.”

  “Right. What makes you think she can pull that off?” asks Ian. “C’mon, Sandy. Let’s just approve Prez as the deal stands and go home.”

  “Wait. What makes you think Prez can pull this off?” asks Carol.

  “Glad you asked.”

  Sandy plugs her laptop into to the monitor on the wall. On the big screen are the same images of the Tiger Palace that Prez played for Sandy the previous night.

  “This is the kind of expertise we will get. Prez’s family runs one of the biggest and most successful casino and hotel complexes in Macau. She will bring that level of expertise and excitement to Oregon. But she can only do this if she has complete ownership and control.”

  “Why didn’t Prez ever tell us this before?” asks Thomas.

  “She couldn’t. Hiram wouldn’t let her.”

  Sandy is making all this up on the fly. She hasn’t broached the topic with Prez; she hasn’t a basis for her numbers. All Sandy knows is that this deal is good for Oregon, this deal is good for the Indians, as she calls them, and this deal is good for Prez. And this deal will be good for Sandy.

  “So what’s in it for the good folks of Oregon?” asks Carol.

  “One hundred and fifty million.”

  Gasps from around the room. That’s twice the construction costs. That’s enough to pay off the credit union’s debt and pocket close to one hundred million.