Apache Dawn - - (classic fiction .TXT) 📗

“…Pray to God for peace, my fellow Americans; pray to Him for salvation, for sustenance, for the safe return of our fighting men and women overseas. But above all, pray to God for our complete and unconditional victory. God bless you all, and God bless this, the greatest land on Earth. Goodnight…”

“Yes,” said the man with a wolf-like smile. “By all means, pray, you American sheep. Pray.”

The side door opened and a woman who wore more skin than clothing sashayed into the room, silhouetted by the light streaming in through the open door. The man turned his full attention on her. Her flowing golden mane, the athletic thighs, the glorious bosom, the perfectly tanned skin. She was perfection, and he could tell by the way she moved, she knew it.

He put the crystal goblet down carefully on the silver tray next to his plush leather recliner. “Ah, my dear Jayne. It has been too long.”

She smirked at him. “You got a call.” In one smooth motion, she lifted the high-slit hem of her silk dress and unclipped a cell phone from the silky lace garter that snuggly gripped her tanned thigh. She winked and tossed it to him.

“Oh, my dear, you are so good,” he said, catching the phone deftly in one hand.

She blew him a kiss and turned slowly on her high heels. “You have no idea.”

He waited to answer the vibrating phone and watched her stately exit from the room. “I will…” he promised himself with a smile. When the door closed behind his most promising agent, he shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. Only then did he click the phone on and put it to his ear.

“Yes?”

“Please hold for the President,” said a woman in a clipped voice.

“Oh, of course,” he replied, his voice dripping charm.

“Hello?” asked a new voice.

“Mr. President!” said the man, switching his voice to a thick Texan accent. “It is so lucky I got through to you.”

“Oh don’t play coy, with me, Reginald. I did just like you told me. Jesus, you’d think you’d give me a minute. I just gave the most important speech of my life—”

“I know you did,” he said, pronouncing I like ah. A proper Texas gentleman. “You did fine, just fine. Rallying the troops, propping up the base, all that jazz. Just dandy.”

“I told you, I don’t want you meddling—”

“Tut, tut, Mr. President. Have you already forgotten all that I have done for you?”

“All you’ve done…for me?”

He sighed. “Now y’all need to just calm down. I want you to savor this moment, y’hear? I don’t want anything from you…yet.”

“I will not be beholden to—”

“Aw, hush now, Mr. President. Ain’t nobody said nuthin’ about no one bein’ beholden to anyone. We’ll call it…a favor. You do remember who got you that Speaker’s position, now, don’t you…?”

There was silence on the other end.

“And you do remember who happened to make certain…shall we say…infusions of cash…that suddenly put California into play for the opposition? So much in play, in fact, that our dearly departed President Denton needed to travel there urgently…right in the middle of this nasty flu business…”

More silence. Then, “What do you want, Reginald?”

Reginald laughed, his best impersonation of a good ol’ boy with a belly bustin’ guffaw. He feigned innocence. “Oh, right now, nuthin’…but we’ll keep in touch. I just wanted to tell y’all congratulations on a fine speech.”

“Goodbye, Reginald.”

“Alrighty then, Mr. President. Y’all take care, now.” He clicked off the phone and placed it delicately on the silver platter next to his brandy. He picked up the crystal and stared into the fire for a moment as he swirled the exquisitely expensive single-malt, lost in thought. A nice long sip of his favorite elixir began to chase away the doubts.

He saw the future of America in the flames.

Reginald smiled and cleared his throat. “I do so love the winter sports up here,” he said in his cultured, proper voice. Pretending to be a Texan always left his throat sore. The way those Americans talked…it was simply barbaric.

“Yes, sir,” replied the guard.

Reginald sighed. “Run along now and fetch me someone to warm my bed, would you?” He lifted the crystal tumbler and swirled the Glenfiddich with an expert hand. He sniffed the delicate aroma and closed his eyes in pleasure.

“A redhead this time, I think. I wish to kiss the flames tonight.” He took a sip of Scotch. “What’s her name? Charlotte?” He nodded. “Yes, that one. She’s eager enough, don’t you think?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the guard’s deep voice, totally void of emotion.

Reginald laughed softly. “As if you would know. Go on, fetch.” He chuckled to himself again as the guard lumbered out of the room and shut the door quietly. Reginald took another sip of his aqua vitae. Everything was coming together as he had planned, just a little later than he had originally hoped. A sudden frown creased his high-born face.

Barron had been an abject failure—that much was plain to see. Still…the fool might be of some use in the coming chaos. Reginald filed that thought away and promised himself he would ponder that little gem of an idea another time. He sighed and let his fingers idly trace the gold rim of the glass at his side.

Harris would fix all that Barron had wrecked. Reginald would see to it personally this time. He would see America in ashes for what the corrupted and childish country had done to him, to his family. He was so close…Everything hinged on the flu and how long it took to mutate—if it mutated. Viruses were such fickle little things. He much preferred bullets and bombs, but one must use what one has, he supposed.

The Source was at last in the possession of his close business associates. The missing vials concerned him, but he was comforted by the thought that the imbecilic North Koreans were close to meeting their objectives and the Chinese would likely be pulled into the widening conflict.

Perhaps, he thought idly, he would be even luckier and the foolish Americans would kill each other in a civil war. Either way—through plague or war—America would fall, and she would burn. And he had lit the match.

Reginald looked once more into the flames and felt the smile return to his face.