by Roger Weston
“Mustangs,” Lomax said. “They get ahead of us, we’re in trouble. They’ll just shoot back at us until they get us.”
“That’s not gonna happen,” Meg said.
Lomax laughed, but when Meg opened her passenger door, he got quiet and looked spooked. “Close that door. What are you doing?”
Meg ignored him. She noticed she wasn’t shaking anymore.
Do the unexpected.
She climbed out onto the door and up onto the roof of the cab. Wind pushed at her, and she clung to a CB antenna as she climbed down the back of the cab and transferred to the flat-bed trailer. The Mustangs slowed to see what she was doing, but a gunner unloaded several shots. Meg took cover behind the natural curve of the jet wing. Keeping down, she hurried to the back of the trailer and released the chain clamps holding the jet wing down. Her act was answered with a more shots. A bullet stung her neck. Her hand shot up to her neck. Blood flowed freely from the wound. Moving forward, Meg released all of the chain clamps.
“Swerve,” she screamed. “Swerve.”
Lomax must have got the idea because he swerved. No longer chained down, the jet wing fell over on the trailer and turned like the second hand on a clock. Kneeling by a pile of industrial tape, Meg got caught. She hadn’t realized the tape was attached to the tape on the jet wing. As the wing tip swung out over the road, Meg was pulled off the trailer and hung suspended over the highway as the truck did eighty miles per hour. Dangling by her foot and a few inches of tape, Meg could have stuck out her tongue and filed it down on the pavement. Her head was only inches above the cement. Blood spattered on the asphalt. After realizing that she hadn’t been scalped by the surface of the I-55 and that it was her neck wound that was leaving the trail, she put her abs to the test. Reaching up for her feet, she lunged for some tape. She missed. As she came back down, the tape gave way slightly, and her hair dragged and snapped on the pavement.
For some reason, Lomax changed lanes. The wing rotated, swinging her across the highway as the Mack truck sped.
He can’t see me. He doesn’t know I’m hanging here.
As the wing rotated, Meg was swung toward the rear trailer wheels. She looked over and saw that she was about to fly into the rear wheels. At that moment, her entire existence became so simple. It all came down to one thought.
They’re going to chew me up.
Meg screamed.
The truck changed lanes again. Now the wing rotated and swung her back out over the highway. Meg crunched her abs again and lunged for a jumble of tape coming off of the wing. This time she got a hold of the mess. Pulling herself up by the industrial strength tape, she managed to get herself back up onto the wing.
Gunfire crackled from the black Mustangs. Bullets glazed the wing just inches from Meg. The wing was rotating again, but Meg couldn’t get her foot free of the tape around her ankle.
The black pick-up accelerated at a high rate, speeding right up behind the Mack truck. A man leaned out the driver’s window and opened up with an automatic assault weapon. Meg watched as the man riddled the back of the cab with bullets. Lomax swerved sharply, and the wing fell off the trailer with Meg on it. It was a desperate moment where time seemed to slow down and all of life seemed to hinge on a single and very simple act. Meg lunged for a stand of big tape and clung to it.
Now it really was time to die.
A moment after this insight came to her, the tape holding her ankle was cut away as the jet wing skidded down the highway at eighty miles per hour. To avoid getting batted off the road by the wing, the driver of the black truck accelerated furiously. The truck was passing Meg.
One more chance to live.
She stood up on the skidding wing and jumped onto the side of the black truck, climbing into the bed. Looking back, she saw the jet wing go into a spin.
An edge caught on the blacktop. The wing sprung up and rolled. The massive aircraft part broke up, a huge section slamming into the Mustangs and sweeping them off the highway and into a potato field. One of them rolled. The pickup truck’s engine screamed in furious protest as the driver made an attempt to get ahead of the Mack truck. As he raced up the left side, Lomax, evidently unaware that Meg was in the truck, tried to run the pickup off the road. As the Mack truck came close, Meg climbed up onto the semi’s flatbed trailer. At that moment she made eye contact with the driver of the pick-up. She had seen him before. Wasn’t he the tourist on the ferry? Eric was right. They always blended in. Moments later, the trailer crunched into the pickup. The black vehicle shot off the highway and slid on its side, smashing into a hill of grass with breakneck force. Meg lay flat on the bed of the speeding Mack truck for a moment while she comprehended the fact that she was still alive.
She crawled forward and climbed back into the cab of the Mack truck. From Lomax’s expression, Meg thought he actually looked scared of her.
She said nothing. Words seemed trivial at that moment. It was enough just to be.
CHAPTER 77
President Stall walked into a chamber of silence, which was the oval office. She sat on the edge of the Resolute Desk and looked around. She became aware of the eyes upon her. The portraits of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln hung on the wall, their eyes gazing down on her with admiration. She considered them small men who never had a fraction of the power that she now wielded. On the other hand, she respected their service because they’d made her own destiny possible.
She looked at the crystal clock. It was time for the negotiation. The stakes were bigger than ever, but she had a classic advantage. She was the president. It never hurt to be the President of the United States in a negotiation. When that negotiation was with a normal American citizen, that kind of power made for almost comical disparity. President Stall would do what she always did. She would win. She would not get everything she wanted, but she would ultimately be the winner. Thirty seconds later, the phone rang. She stared at the secure phone as if it were a child’s toy on the Resolute Desk. When it rang again, she reached for it.
“Yes.”
“It’s the call you were waiting for, a Miss Coles.”
“Put her through.”
There was a slight delay.
“President Stall.”
“Yes, we have business to discuss. Thank you for calling.”
“Business?”
The president grinned. Meg’s voice sounded nervous. The president almost smiled at this. Her power gave her the advantage in every negotiation. She lived for the challenge, and she always prevailed. She did a lap around the Resolute Desk. “Yes, of course. What do you want?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Yes, Meg, I think you do, or you wouldn’t be calling me now, would you?”
“I wanted to tell you that I’m just about to meet with Senator Mills. I’m going to turn over the evidence I have on Environmental Solutions, on your operations, on two assassinations. Of course, I may have lost a couple of items that could perhaps be found later should I need them. But Senator Mills is pleased that he has more than enough to begin impeachment pro—”
“Surely, you’re not that stupid.” The president waited for a response, but got none. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean just that, I—”
“I’m a lonely woman,” Meg said. “I miss my husband.”
“Don’t be a fool. We played a game of chess, and you won. Okay, I concede. Winner take the spoils. Fine, I played hardball with you. I respect that you’re doing the same. I respect strength, and right now, Miss Coles, you are… you are the most powerful woman in the world.” The president paused for effect. She knew a thing about acting herself. “Yes,” she continued. “Drink it in. I know how you feel. You want something and you know you’re going to get it. I’ve gotten used to that feeling, and now it’s your turn. Okay, then. The game is over. Name your price. You’ll have it.”
“Are you sure?”
“You know damn well I am. Now get on with it.”
“I just wanted to tell you in person t
hat you are directly implicated. Nobody will take the fall for you. You have no cover this time.”
“I said name your price. Alright, alright… You don’t want to give up your cards. Fine then. I’ll make the first move. You are a good actress, aren’t you? Okay, I’ll offer you a piece of the pie.”
“What?”
“A ten percent cut. Now there you go. You negotiated very well. I’ve met none better. Ten percent will net you ten million a year. Alright then? Is it a deal?”
“I don’t need the money. I don’t want it.”
The president walked over and stood by the marble mantel. “You greedy little…” She hesitated. “Alright, I’ll raise the stakes. I’ll make you an equal partner in Environmental Solutions. That’s thirty percent or $30 million annually. Not only that, I truly admire your guts and audacity. Therefore, there will be other opportunities in the future. After all, I am the second most powerful woman in the world. Yes, you heard right. I am number two and it’s not easy to say. I’ll bet that feels good to you, doesn’t it?”
“I think you’re a sick woman,” Meg said. “I don’t care about power, and I don’t make myself the partner of crooks. My father taught me never to lie, and I won’t. I’ll be meeting with Senator Mills and turning the papers over to him.”
“Mills is the damn crook. Do you know how immoral that man is?”
“He’ll know what to do with the files. That’s as far as my interest goes.”
“You don’t know what you’re playing with, lady.”
“I already won. You said so, yourself.” The line went dead.
The president threw the phone down on the floor. President Stall walked over and sat down at the Resolute Desk. She looked around the oval office, and the history weighed upon her like a rope around her neck. She had dined with world leaders in capitals all over the world. Everywhere she had gone she had been met with deference and awe. Presidents and kings alike had kissed her ass. Promises were made. Deals were cut. At state dinners, she was the guest of honor. Upon her arrival anywhere, the airwaves were flooded with praise in her name. Of course, there were always the grumblers and the complainers, but she always won, and she enjoyed their anger and frustration. She was the daily headline. If she took a walk on the East Lawn, the masses swooned. She was President Marsha Stall. And now …
Now, she was to be toppled by a lowly drama professor from backwoods Boise, Idaho. It was beyond absurd. She felt Lincoln’s eyes on her and turned away.
Maybe this was a bluff. Maybe Meg Coles was playing for a bigger cut. President Stall looked at the phone. Would it ring again?
No, she had been through too many negotiations to believe that. Meg Coles was dead serious. For several moments, the president was at the center of a chamber of dead silence. The history surrounded her, and she buckled and threw herself onto the couch.
“No,” she wailed. “No, no, no!”
The doors burst open. Three secret service agents poured in with guns drawn.
“What’s going on?” Agent Joe said.
“Get out of here. Now!”
“Sorry, Mrs. President,” he said as he retreated. “We heard a scream.” The door fell shut.
President Stall resisted the urge to be sick. Someplace over by the marble mantel, a fly had the audacity to buzz around for a second or two. The sound was loud and offensive. Nobody in the world other than her had the right to be in here, yet a bug had flown in here as if to mock her. The bitter irony of that on a day like this. She got up and stumbled across the tomb of the Oval Office. She sat on the edge of the Resolute Desk and looked around. She stared at the frowning portraits of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln on the wall. She would have liked to tear them down off the wall and burn them in the fireplace.
President Stall looked up at the plaster ceiling medallion of the Seal of the President of the United States. For just a moment she had a vision of a falling rope and a hang-man’s noose.
CHAPTER 78
Carl watched as the military plane landed at the old Larson Air Force base in Grant County Washington. A dozen engineers and workers scurried off the plane.
A middle aged secret service agent walked over to Carl. “I have to pat you down, sir. Orders. If you have a weapon, it will be returned later.”
Carl handed over his .45.
“Any other weapons, sir?”
Carl shook his head in irritation. He allowed the schmuck to pat him down. This kind of garbage was standard procedure when a man was on his way to meet the president. The fact that Carl was the president’s cousin made no difference. Unfortunately, Air Force One wasn’t going to meet him this time. Too high profile, the president had said.
When Carl climbed into the plane, three more secret service agents awaited him.
“Nice of the president to provide extra security for me,” Carl said. He smiled at the irony.
“Welcome aboard, sir.” This came from a young officer who looked like he might still be in high school.
Carl nodded.
“Would you like a drink, sir? We have a whiskey, soda, and juice. We were told that you get special treatment.”
“I’ll bet you were,” Carl said. “No, I’ll pass.”
The C-17 cargo dump soared over the endless brown grass of Eastern Washington towards Washington DC. As the bird cruised at over a thousand feet, Carl thought of how much nuclear waste he could bury here. With various dictators getting their hands on nuclear power, the demand for his services was soaring about as high as the C-17 that was presently delivering this coyote to the chicken coop, which was the White House.
The young secret service agent who offered him drinks now pulled out a pistol and aimed it at Carl.
“What the hell you think you’re doing, son?”
“Following orders. We’re going to have to drop you off here, sir.”
“What?” Carl glanced out the window. The C-17 was flying at a thousand feet. He saw a long winding river below. He knew it was the Snake River that flowed through Hell’s Canyon.
“Do you know who I am?” Carl said.
“No, sir. I don’t ask questions.” The kid nodded at the middle aged officer with the goatee beard and bulging muscles. “Go ahead, Kent.”
“You boys aren’t secret service, are you?” Carl said.
“No, sir.” Kent leaned toward Carl. “Sir, I’m sorry about this.” He grabbed Carl’s arm and twisted it with the force of a hydraulic winch.
Carl yelled in pain and for a moment thought his shoulder was ripping out of joint. Then he felt plastic handcuffs tighten around his wrists.
“Boys,” Carl said, “this is the best day of your life. My guess is that you’re making forty thousand a year. I’ll hire you right now and pay you each half a million annually to provide security for me.”
They all laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“We were told you would try something like that.”
The door slid open, and a wall of warm air slapped Carl in the face.
“Any final words,” Kent said.
“Two million each,” Carl said. “That’s per year and I’ll pay you cash today.”
“Sorry.”
“I’ll give you ten million each.”
“No deal.” Kent shook his head, and the others had expressions like Roman statues.
“Please,” Carl said. “You don’t know who I am. You don’t know what you’re doing. I’m the president’s cousin, you idiot.”
“I wish you the best,” Kent said. “Nothing I can do.”
“Oh, shit, please.” Carl dropped to his stomach. “Please don’t do this. I beg you.” Carl started to cry. “Please.” Carl felt a shoe on his butt and a hard shove. He flew out over the canyon and dropped into the orange void.
CHAPTER 79
Astoria, Oregon
Molly De La Cruz, the newest drama professor at Astoria Community College, lived in a quaint cottage in the middle of town. None of her neighbors would have ever g
uessed that she had $7 million in offshore accounts and other assets. And certainly none of them would have ever guessed that Molly was actually Meg Coles, the now infamous professor who had recently outfoxed the federal government in an intense manhunt. Neither would they have guessed that Molly was the person who had brought down the president. After all, the news had credited Senator Mills with that. As far as her neighbors were concerned, Molly was just another transplant from Southern California. They forgave her for this and were friendly.
Molly opened her stage makeup kit and went through her normal ritual that began each day. First, she applied base color to her face. She gently worked the cream into her skin to create a reddish-brown hue. She dabbed spots of rouge over the base color and blended it in to deepen the shade. She applied blush and blended it. After checking for consistency, she shaded her neck to match and then added makeup powder all over. Next she penciled in her eyebrows and painted her mouth heavily. She didn’t bother with a black wig anymore because her hair was dyed black.
The classic Latin beauty grabbed yesterday’s mail, pulled her red Porsche out of her driveway, and drove through the fog that had come in off the ocean. She was careful to go the speed limit.
The drive to campus took five minutes. She parked, checked her box, and headed to class. Meg enjoyed her new name and identity. It had allowed her to leave the past behind and start with a fresh slate. Although it had taken time for her to learn to forgive herself along with everyone else, she had done so.
As she strolled down the hall, she could tell without even looking that several young men were checking her out as she passed. The Latin beauty from the drama department turned heads. Little did they know that she was not who she appeared to be. Her morning make-up session had made sure of that.
The letter from Panama caught her attention. The return address was from John Lomax. She tore it open as she entered the theatre.