Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga (84 page)
Read Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga Online
Authors: Marcus Richardson
“
Got one!
” called out Anse.
“You have my blessing as President pro tem, to do whatever is necessary to defeat the invaders and secure the freedom of yourself, your family, and your country. Look to the skies, my friends.
Where we cannot send active support in the form of military personnel or jets, we will make every effort to airlift supplies to aid you in your fight for freedom.”
Denny glassed the rest of the Russians.
Two were throwing their hands up in surrender.
One of the men, his hands up, suddenly clutched his chest and fell over.
“We’re not taking prisoners,” Denny muttered.
“Sorry about the
inconvenience
.”
The other one fell into the brush at his feet.
Two rifle shots cracked through the air.
“Citizens who find themselves in the unhappy situation of living in the occupied West, I say to you: fear not.
Your fellow Americans are coming.
I urge you to resist the Communists in any way you can.
Take back your homes, your cities and join the cause.
Be merciless!
This is our land, not theirs!
If you can make your way to the new border, military personnel will be there to assist you.”
Denny smiled at the new President’s words.
It was as if
Grandfather
had written the man’s speech.
He keyed his mic.
“All right everyone, that got ‘em.
Now let’s go get that other group that ran west.”
A
WELL
-
MANICURED
HAND
GENTLY
picked up a crystal tumbler half-full of Glenfiddich 1937 single-malt and swirled the walnut-colored liquid just so.
The gold-rimmed crystal raised to a chiseled, aristocratic face and the man closed his eyes at the first touch of the fire on his tongue.
He inhaled and savored the hint of cinnamon and cloves as the subtle flavor played its way through his mouth and spread warmth down his throat.
“Exquisite
,” he murmured in a cultured, well-trained voice.
He looked into the crackling fire just beyond his slippered feet and pulled the mink bathrobe tighter around his athletic legs.
“These northern winters can be so brutally
cold
—but this helps,” he said, examining the play of the through his glass.
The large man in the business suit on the far wall next to the door nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
He ignored the Swedish guard and looked out the frost-covered window, where the snow fell incessantly.
“Ah, to be back in the summer sun of my youth.”
He turned his attention back to the large screen mounted into the stone wall.
The new President of the United States—such as it was—had been giving a fine speech.
Quite entertaining.
“…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.
Good night…”
“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 length 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 in play for the opposition.
So much in play, in fact, that our dear, dear departed President Denton needed to travel there so 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 and his 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.
”
“All-righty 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.
The
Wildfire Saga
continues with
The Shift
….
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Author’s Note
THE INSPIRATION FOR
Apache Dawn
and the future books of the
Wildfire Saga
(which began life titled
Oath of Office
) came from a news story I read sometime in 2013 about a virologist in Europe who was creating an international controversy.
He had been successful in manipulating the genetic code of avian influenza viral strains to make them survive in the air and become unrecognizable by the human immune system.
I thought it incredibly arrogant of man—as a species—to think that we could modify something so potentially hazardous as the avian flu to be even more dangerous, without repercussions or fear.
What was so bad about this research, this modification?
Well the virologist wanted to force the flu strain to mutate faster than it would in nature, into a highly contagious, airborne version especially dangerous to humans.
A perfect killer.
Why??
In theory, it was because the scientific community wanted to see how the virus mutates—so that when it does so for real, scientists will be able to create a vaccine to target the strain and be ready and waiting in ambush, so to speak.