Nuclear Winter First Strike by Bobby Akart (best fiction books of all time .txt) 📗

cigar was called, was much milder than most smokes. It provided a nice, robust flavor without the strong knockout punch that most cigars hit the casual smoker with.

Hank took a long draw on his cigar and allowed the smoke rings to float into the night until they joined the flames from the bonfire.

“So let ’em,” said Hank as he sipped on a mojito. The Driftwood Key Inn was known for several signature traits or amenities. In addition to being the only resort on its own private island, guests raved about their signature cocktail, the mojito.

The Florida Keys, thanks to Jimmy Buffett and his Margaritaville restaurant in Key West, was often associated with margaritas. Margaritas, a tequila-infused lime drink, was first introduced near Tijuana, Mexico, in the late 1930s. Associating it with island living was a direct result of Buffett, his music, and extensive branding.

Since the Florida Keys were first inhabited, and probably because of their close proximity to Cuba, the mojito cocktail had been the drink of choice. Originally a medicinal drink used to curb disease in Havana, it was created with bootleg rum mixed with readily available mint, lime juice, and sugar cane syrup.

The Albright family, like the other early settlers of the Florida Keys, had imbibed in the tart yet tasty drink since the turn of the nineteenth century. At the Driftwood Key Inn, they followed the recipe used by most, except the Albrights insisted on using key limes grown on the property and white rum made by Havana Club, a Cuban rum now available because the embargo against the nation had been lifted.

While Hank and Jessica enjoyed their mojitos, Mike, always the exception, sipped a Jack Black on the rocks.

Hank turned to Jessica. “How about you? Anything exciting on the water today?”

As part of the Water Emergency Team, Jessica had to respond to all manner of emergencies, from people who’d been injured to divers in distress.

“You know, it’s hard to compare what I do to Mike. I’ve watched him tackle these murder cases and take them on personally as if he were a family member of the dead person. I don’t have that kind of excitement.

“Today, I had to respond to a family on the water who thought their father was having a heart attack or a stroke. We raced out there only to find out he was toasted inside and out. It was nothing more than pickled innards and dehydration.”

Hank nodded his understanding of where she was coming from. “These people are here to have a good time. They wanna drink, get some sun, and do all the things they can’t do up in Illinois or Ohio or Vermont. We try to politely warn them, and while they’re on our property, Jimmy and the others are able to let them know when they’ve had too much sun.”

The three of them sat quietly for a moment. Mike hoisted himself out of his beach chair to toss a couple more logs on the fire. He spoke to Hank as he returned to his chair.

“So, I was talking to Phoebe while we ate in the kitchen. She tells me that you’ve met a lady friend.”

Hank pulled the bill of his Tommy Bahama Relax hat down over his eyes as he shook his head from side to side. The formerly white hat was stained by years of wear and multiple washings in the salty sea.

“Geez, you people are relentless!” exclaimed Hank. “I didn’t meet a lady friend. She’s a guest of the hotel.”

“A special guest is what Phoebe told us,” added Jessica.

“Phoebe talks too much.”

“Tell us about her,” said Jessica.

“What’s to tell?” Hank asked rhetorically. “She’s here with her three sisters for an annual beach vacation. They stay at different places each year, and this year they chose the inn.”

“She’s a Washington big shot is what Sonny said,” interjected Mike.

“Damn. Sonny talks too much as well.”

“C’mon, Hank, she is a big deal, right?” asked Mike.

“Nah. Well, yeah. She’s secretary of agriculture.”

“Come on, Hank,” said Jessica. “She’s in the president’s cabinet. That’s pretty damn cool. So you two have hit it off?”

“Yeah, I suppose you could say that. I mean, we’re friendly, and she’s easy to talk to. Nothing like the politicians and government officials Peter tells us about.”

“How is my nephew?” asked Mike. “I got a text saying he wasn’t blown up in Abu Dhabi. Odd but good news, I guess.”

“A little too close for comfort, Mike. He was more in the thick of it than what was relayed in the news. Peter was lucky, but he made his own luck by some quick thinking.”

Hank finished his mojito and glanced over at Jessica’s glass to see if she was ready for another one. She noticed his interest and finished off her drink, waving the glass with a smile as she swallowed.

Hank rose and took her glass. “Michael? Ready?”

“Yeah, I’ll walk with ya.” Hank reached out with his free hand and clasped his brother’s to help hoist him off the beach chair. As he did, he heard shouting coming from the main house.

“Mr. Hank! Mr. Hank! Come quick. It’s Peter on the phone!”

The calm of the evening had just been shattered.

Chapter Fourteen

Saturday, October 19

Tehran, Iran

In those first few moments, they were dumbstruck. A million pairs of eyes fixed in a thousand-yard stare—nerve endings unfeeling, insensitive to what had happened.

Most just stood there. Mouth agape. Barely able to breathe as they comprehended what was happening. Others released a primal, spine-chilling scream before running in all directions in search of safety.

To observe their bodies, arms outstretched, flying away from where they once stood, would make you think your mind was playing tricks on you. Their fingers would begin to melt like a wax figurine in a much too hot enclosed room.

Then the rest of their body seemingly disappeared, evaporated into a cloud of dust, leaving no trace as it mixed with the sands of Persia.

The screaming would continue. Shrieking. Moaning. Agony expressed in any manner of ways.

Hundreds of thousands of victims