by Peter Parkin
He had a Top Ten list—headed by North Korea and Syria.
Followed close behind by Venezuela and Nigeria.
Of course, no list was complete without Iran, and possibly Turkey.
There were lesser countries on the list, but they could wait. After he unleashed the first few attacks, they’d probably all toe the line and no longer be a problem. He’d have to wait and see.
And, as soon as these rogue nations were eliminated, America’s prominence in the economic realm would become apparent. The U.S. stock markets would roar, because, in comparison to everyone else, they would be seen as a safe haven.
America would also have the economic might and fear factor to get out of its twenty trillion in debt obligations—it would simply erase all debts owed to foreign nations and banks. Who would dare oppose the country that had just nuked several of its enemies? And, the World Bank would be controlled by U.S. interests so their influence would be impotent. The United Nations, as usual, would be a paper tiger.
Power had its advantages—Linc had learned that simple fact over the years. The problem was, everyone prior to Linc, aside from Truman, had been afraid to use that power.
No more.
Linc got excited just thinking about it. America would be back in the exalted supreme position by the time he was finished.
He’d taken Bob Stone’s advice and had a chat with his speechwriter, Tanya, before this event in Toledo. Told her the speeches had to hit harder, have more fear built in. Fear needed to be the theme. It was going to be the key to beating the Democrats in November.
Tanya got the message—the words she’d conjured up for this speech were scary and gut wrenching. He needed more speeches like this one.
Linc smoothly slid his eyes across to the left teleprompter, and began his closing remarks.
“We’ve been pushed around long enough. We’re America, and we deserve more respect than the world is giving us. The economies of the world would be anemic without us. It’s about time they started recognizing that. And, I’m the one who can do that for you. In fact, I’m the only one who can do that for you.”
He paused as 5,000 people jumped to their feet, screaming and applauding. He smiled, knowing he had them in the palm of his hands. Bob Stone was right—these were the words they wanted to hear, needed to hear.
He raised his hands high in the air, bringing almost instant silence to the audience. He felt shivers down his spine again with the realization that the mere raising of his hands could command attention—and silence. Now he knew how Jesus must have felt on Mt. Sinai.
His steel blue eyes roamed over to the right-side teleprompter.
“With Lincoln Berwick as your President, you will no longer cower, no longer feel unappreciated. Americans will never live in fear again. And they will be respected wherever they travel in this great big world and, yes, even feared. I will make sure that our enemies understand what it means to defy the greatest democracy the world has ever seen.
“Trust me with your votes in the primaries and again in the general election. We’ll never have an opportunity like this come our way again. We’re at the end. America is on the verge of imploding, and we cannot let this happen.
“As your president, I will refuse to let it happen! Let me fight for you!”
*****
Linc was sitting in a Cadillac stretch limousine with one other passenger. The chauffeur was weaving his way through traffic in the direction of the Toledo airport. The glass privacy screen gave the two passengers the isolation they needed.
Jason Reid was sitting across from Linc and they were both sipping vintage red wine.
“Your speech went well. The crowd was fired up more than I’ve seen in a long time. Senator, I think the momentum is in your favor right now.”
Linc took a long sip from his glass of Merlot, and stared at his private security chief. These ex-Secret Service guys were all the same, he mused to himself. Well dressed, emotionless, coldly authoritative, and always in control. If they gave out compliments, they were usually just polite practiced gestures. But, Linc didn’t mind—he liked being patronized.
“Yeah, I can feel it too, Jason. Let’s get down to business, though. I have the feeling that you have something disturbing to tell me. A sixth sense.”
Jason nodded. “That’s why you’re a good politician. Yes, we struck out with Bill Tomkins. He’s one tough character. He killed both of my operatives.”
Linc nodded. “Any possibility of this being traced back to you?”
Jason shook his head. “No, they were ‘blind’ contractors. No trace as to who hired them. It will be a dead end for the police.”
“Good. Well, I’m not surprised about Bill. He was trained by the same people who trained me. Next steps?”
“Well, I’m wondering if you should bring Bob Stone and Meagan Whitfield into the loop on this skeleton from your past. Might be better if they know so they can prepare responses and strategies if something does get out. This thing will kill your candidacy—and could even send you to prison.”
Linc folded his arms across his chest as the car turned onto the main expressway leading to the airport.
“Absolutely not. They don’t need to know. I hire you for things like this, and I want results. Tell me what you plan to do now.”
“Okay, then. I was only thinking of your campaign. Those folks are on your side.”
Linc shook his head. “I don’t want to hear any more about this. I’m not telling them. Again, what’s your plan?”
“We need to move fast on the other two. Tomkins will be on his guard now if he figures out that the attack he suffered wasn’t a simple robbery. Especially if he knows now about the death of John Nichols.”
“Well, when those other two die, Tomkins will know for sure something is up. So, we’ll have to brace for that.”
Jason pulled a notepad out of his pocket. “There’s no point trying for Tomkins again right now. Best for us to wait until after the others are dead. And we might get lucky. Their deaths might just warn him off for good—scare him into silence.”
“Possibly. But, he’s a West Point grad, and Honor Guild. We don’t scare easily.”
“That’s true. Anyway, I think our best tactic right now is just to get rid of the other two. Process of elimination will reduce the possibility of a leak.”
Jason read from his note pad. “Hank Price and Lloyd Franken.” He looked up. “We’ll do these quickly and then talk about how to deal with Tomkins after that. Okay?”
Linc cracked his knuckles while gazing out of the tinted window of the limousine; the Toledo airport looming in the distance. He was relieved to soon be flying out of this shithole of a city.
“Okay. Make it fast. I’m getting one of those sixth sense feelings, and I don’t like it.”
15
He loved it when engineering students came on this tour. Today, it was a group of first year enthusiasts from the Bothell campus of the University of Washington. Wide-eyed, innocent, and ready to take on the world.
And, at least some of them, the best and the brightest, would graduate as aerospace engineers and perhaps even join Boeing one day. As far as Hank was concerned, they couldn’t make a better choice.
Hank Price had been at Boeing for fifteen years, and had risen to the position of chief engineer after only five years at the company. He loved his job, especially this part where he got the chance to interact with young people.
Even better, being able to say that he’d been instrumental in the development of the world’s newest and most famous luxury jet, the 787 Dreamliner, was something that always impressed people at cocktail parties.
Not that he was out to impress anyone, but it was a source of pride to him. It was the one jet that everyone wanted to fly on—it was pretty much on everyone’s bucket list. And, it was a beautiful jet—Hank was d
arn proud of it, as was his team.
Fuel efficient, fast, and equipped with comfort features that were lacking in most passenger jets today. He knew it would revolutionize the world of air travel, and that was a heritage that he’d be able to take with him to the grave. Maybe his contribution to the long-running Dreamliner project would even be noted on his headstone?
Hank normally worked out of the Seattle head office, but on Tuesdays and Wednesdays of each week he conducted tours of their massive factory in Everett, only 25 miles north of Seattle.
The tour was officially known to the public as the Future of Flight, which sounded kind of space age, but, it really wasn’t.
It allowed the public to see the actual construction of jet aircraft, piece by painstaking piece. They were usually enthralled with the degree of robotics that was used in the factory, which made aircraft assembly plants much more efficient than they used to be. The robotics were a highlight of the tour, for sure.
And, the advanced level of automation that Boeing employed allowed their jets to reach market much faster than they would have a mere two decades ago.
By volume, the Everett plant was the largest building in the world, at a mind-boggling 13 million square meters. And visitors could watch several varieties of famous Boeing jets being assembled: the iconic 747, the jumbo 767, the sleek 777, and of course the ground-breaking 787 Dreamliner—Hank’s pride and joy.
The Everett facility was the only commercial jet assembly plant in North America to offer tours to the public, and it had been Hank’s idea to initiate them years ago. These tours had played a huge role in enhancing Boeing’s reputation, and they added just that little extra measure of comfort and confidence to the flying public.
The Boeing plant was one of the largest tourist attractions in the entire state of Washington, with hundreds of thousands of visitors every year.
As a result, hotels and restaurants had sprung up in the Everett area—the factory was solely responsible for an economic boom that was unrelenting.
Hank led the group of students along a catwalk, which allowed them a birds-eye view of the assembly operations.
Some jets in their infancy, and others in their final stages.
“Sir, that’s a strange-looking wing.”
Hank glanced over at the young man. He was pointing down at one of the jets being prepped for its final coat of paint.
Hank chuckled. “Hard not to notice that, isn’t it? Yes, that’s the 777, and, believe it or not, its wings are hinged. The wingspan on that jet is so wide that the plane wouldn’t make it down most taxi ramps. So, the pilot has the ability to press a button commanding the wings to bend upward at the hinge so he can taxi safely to the airport gates. Neat, huh?”
The kids all stared down in unison at the high-tech jet, mouths open in amazement.
He continued. “While the body of the 777 is aluminum, the wings are made of a very strong carbon fibre—much lighter than aluminum—which gives the jet more efficient lift and aerodynamics. We’re always striving to make our planes more efficient, and, of course, more environmentally friendly. Very important these days. And, our airline clients appreciate that our plane designs help them contain fuel costs, which means they can afford to offer airfares at more competitive prices. Needless to say, more efficient jets add more to their bottom line profits as well, which of course is what it’s all about in the grand scheme of things.”
Hank glanced at his watch, and then clapped his hands together.
“Okay, follow me. Unfortunately, the tour’s over and your bus is probably waiting for you already in the parking lot. Slack time over, back to campus to bury your noses in your books.”
He laughed as a collective groan followed him down to the main concourse.
He didn’t blame them for groaning—he’d always enjoyed field trips, too, way back when he was a student, and the thought of going back to class again had usually brought pains to his stomach.
These tours kind of reminded him of his university days—being able to escape the office in Seattle twice a week to make the thirty-minute drive north to Everett. He really enjoyed getting away from the office politics even just for a little while—engaging with young eager students was much more invigorating.
Hank pulled his phone out of his pocket to check his messages. The thing had vibrated a couple of times while he was with the students, but he never answered it while he was with a tour group.
They always got his undivided attention, even though they didn’t always offer him the same courtesy. He noticed that several of them had been busy texting instead of paying attention, and he also had to caution all of them before the tour that no photos were allowed in the assembly plant. Basic protection against industrial espionage. The kids grumbled a bit, but they seemed to understand.
Two text messages.
One from his secretary reminding him about a meeting first thing in the morning.
He smiled at the second message—a brief one from his old friend, Bill Tomkins, on the other side of the country. All it said was for Hank to call him as soon as he could.
He hadn’t seen Bill in a couple of months, back during a business trip Hank had made to New York. They’d grabbed some dinner and a few beers afterwards.
Two Honor Guild guys reminiscing about their days back at West Point.
It was always a good time whenever they got together—Bill was still the same guy, very intense, extremely serious. But, after a few drinks he managed to loosen up.
Hank considered it his personal mission to try to bring Bill out of his shell whenever they met. And, he was actually a funny guy when he let his hair down a bit, which he probably didn’t do all that often.
But, it was always easier to loosen up with old friends, people who knew you before you’d achieved success.
And Bill Tomkins had sure achieved success—probably the wealthiest of all the old crowd. Sure, Lincoln Berwick was on a run for the White House now, but Hank tried not to think of him too often.
All he knew was that he definitely wouldn’t be voting for that cold-hearted prick next November.
Well, he’d phone Bill back when he got home. They could have a good chat and schedule their next rendezvous.
Hank walked out through the front lobby to the parking lot, where his Cadillac Escalade was waiting for him. He loved the vehicle in some ways, but in other ways he hated it. It was a massive SUV, one of the larger ones on the market. So, it was great for hauling stuff, and there was lots of room for his wife and three kids. But, because of its size, it felt clumsy at times and the sway always bothered him when he turned corners at higher speeds. The Caddy always gave the impression that it was getting ready to roll.
But you couldn’t beat the sheer luxury of a Caddy. The interior was sumptuous.
He settled into the plush leather seat and wheeled his way out of the parking lot. After a couple of short detours he was on the Interstate 5, heading south to Seattle.
It was only a couple of weeks until Christmas, so Hank made the executive decision to take the rest of the day off. Playing hooky was just one of the many perks of being Boeing’s chief engineer.
He hadn’t done any shopping yet, and he was perilously close to running out of time.
His wife, Kristy, wanted a fancy new blender, but Hank had already decided to ignore that and get her a diamond bracelet instead.
And the kids wanted some new computer games, but, he was going to ignore that, too. New bikes were in order for each of them, and with Seattle’s spring weather all year long it was the perfect climate for cycling. He wanted his kids to begin weaning off the video games and get outside more.
He cruised along happily—Christmas was his favorite time of the year, and even though they rarely got snow in Seattle, he and Kristy always made the house look festive. Which was another reason why he was going to play hooky this afternoo
n—he knew she wanted to get the tree up this evening. If he went back to the office, he wouldn’t get out of there until at least 10:00. There was always something brewing that would tie him to his desk. Best not to know.
Hank tuned the radio in to a holiday favorites channel and began singing along with Bing Crosby.
The highway was pretty clear—he passed through the suburbs of Lynnwood and Mount Lake Terrace without traffic of any note, even though he’d expected there would be. This time of the year things tended to bog down, and he suspected that the traffic would get worse the closer he got to Seattle proper.
Just after passing through Parkwood, a car careened around him at top speed and had to slam on its brakes due to another car in front. Hank rammed his foot down on the brake pedal and managed to slow his beast down just in time to avoid running up his bumper.
He leaned on the horn and cursed out loud, which somehow made him feel better.
But, he made a mental note to get his car in for a check-up. The brakes had seemed to take much longer than normal to react. His car was heavy, so the stopping distance was longer than most cars, but, he found it strange he’d come so close to hitting that jerk’s bumper.
And, he’d have to get his steering checked too—far too much play in the wheel. Which was typical for most Cadillacs, but on this drive home it felt abnormal to him.
He made sure to leave a lot of space between himself and the jerk up front, just in case.
Hank managed to relax again, and he cranked the music up a little bit louder.
As he turned into the highway curve leading towards the Lake Union area, he could see up ahead that traffic was backing up as normal on the bridge that crossed the narrows between the lake and Portage Bay.
The Caddy struggled through the curve—the steering was acting up again. Hank found that he had to turn the wheel much farther than he normally did. It wasn’t responsive.
He managed to get around the curve safely, but it was unnerving as hell. He could feel his heart starting to pound harder and beads of sweat materialized on his forehead.