Room 1515

by Bill Wetterman

  Pendleton propped up on his elbows. “One day, if I have my way of things, you and I will live in a more modest home to show the world our cloth. The home of a maintenance man will be two steps up from what he can afford now, but three steps down from ours.” he playfully patted her behind, “Until then, royal treatment it is.”

  Pendleton, still naked, sat up and grasped her hand.

  She blushed, not understanding why. Something about Arthur showed an innocence that surprised her. A powerful money-broker and world leader, yet he possessed a quality of vulnerability that made him so desirable.

  “I’ve fallen hopelessly in love with you,” Pendleton said. “If you’re ever unfaithful, don’t tell me. As for me, I’m satisfied to be faithful to you.”

  “Lie to him,” Polaris said, always quick to keep her from stumbling.

  “I feel the same way,” she said.

  She realized she did. Yes, her loyalty to the Herculeans required her to be unfaithful. If she didn’t have that obligation, she would be his alone. Saying she felt the same way wasn’t a lie.

  “I need you to accompany me to Germany in January for the signing of the Stromiehre deal. And thank you for allowing Mr. Martin into Room 1515.”

  Talk about souring her mood. Thinking about Daphne’s death and the botched attack plan made her sick. But she responded with a kind, “You’re welcome, Darling.”

  “Now how about breakfast?” he asked.

  “I’ll ring the kitchen,” she replied. “Will I see you at Christmas?”

  “We’ll talk about Christmas after tonight’s vote count.”

  #

  Peacock comprehended the negative impact the Independent Conservative Party would have on the election. But she didn’t understand all the reasons, and she didn’t voice her lack of knowledge to either Ursa or Pendleton. Both men talked to her about this dreaded third party on many occasions. Both feared the consequences. But she didn’t understand why.

  By 3:00 a.m., she could barely keep her eyes open. “You should be happy, Arthur. Russell won.”

  Pendleton’s shirt was sweated through. His eyes were bloodshot. He’d been lying on the living room couch, on his cell phone, shouting at someone only a few minutes before.

  “No, Lovey, don’t you understand. No one won.” He threw his notepad across the room. “To become president, a candidate needs 270 Electoral College votes. Russell only has 215. Granted he has more than the other two running, but he doesn’t have enough votes to win outright.”

  “So what happens now?”

  She’d slept for a while earlier in the night and hoped to sleep a lot more.

  “Time will pass irritatingly slow.” He pulled her close and let her rest her head against his chest. “The good news is Vice President Edmunds will be reelected again by the Senate. In the House, it’s a sticky wicket. As it stands now, Russell has won twenty-four states to Monroe’s seventeen. The ICP won nine states. If all of the ICP states vote Monroe’s way, he becomes president again. Seven of the nine are in Monroe’s pocket.”

  “How can I help?” she asked.

  “Pray! Everything rests on two states with only one congressman each, Holman of New Hampshire and Keith of Vermont. If I can get them to vote for Russell, life will be so much easier.”

  Peacock fumed at the name of Holman. She didn’t know Keith. He never came to Room 1515. He must be a nice family man. She decided she liked him. At least now, she understood all the fuss over this third party.

  In the midst of her stewing, Rigel spoke to her. “After Pendleton leaves tomorrow, Ursa wants to see you.”

  “Affirmative,” she whispered as Pendleton finished his calculations and stretched.

  “We’ve had a long night. I’m off first thing tomorrow afternoon. Let’s turn in.”

  “Politics is too stuffy for me. I’ll leave the worrying to you.” She kissed him, and he hugged her as they moved to the elevator. He didn’t leave a space between them all the way to their room. Normally she wouldn’t stand for anyone rubbing her as she walked. But for some reason she enjoyed the feel of him against her. She enjoyed it immensely.

  “Decided about Christmas yet?” she asked.

  He opened their bedroom door and pointed to the bed. On the bed was a folder. She pulled out a set of documents and some brochures.

  “Arthur! You bought an island?”

  “Only twenty-seven million euros, Isla De Sa Ferradura is right off the coast of Spain. The property comes with a mansion and everything your heart could desire.”

  “I can’t believe this.”

  “Believe it,” he said and squeezed her tight. “The only way onto the island from Ibiza is a muddy, worn road. We have fourteen acres of paradise. I bought everything, including the staff and the services.”

  “Is this why you were commenting on the opulence of my home?”

  “Exactly, I can’t compete as homes go. But add an island, and my gift stands out.”

  Peacock’s eyes moistened. What was happening to her? She never remembered celebrating Christmas. Her parents said Christmas should be lived every day with the same gratitude. No one day was more special than another.

  “I’ll love celebrating Christmas with you.”

  #

  No sooner did Pendleton disappear through the security gates at Washington National, when Peacock made straightway for Ursa’s Washington office. Riding in the cab, her mind flooded with ideas. First, she longed to kill Martin in some insidious way. The asshole deserved no mercy. Martin’s death would send a message to Holman that he was playing a dangerous game.

  Second, she needed to understand all the political intrigue going on. If she was to appear with Pendleton at the awarding of the Stromiehre contract, she had to be knowledgeable of the issues and not appear ignorant. She needed a quick study of the political infighting that made this contract a big deal.

  Unfortunately, her past life kept popping into her mind and bothering her concentration. Little incidents of no significance triggered the thoughts and appeared out of nowhere. Playing hopscotch with her friends and laughing was the latest memory she had to deal with. She needed to be constantly working. When she wasn’t working, boredom was her nemesis. She needed other assignments.

  The cab stopped at Seventeenth and F Street. Peacock rushed up the stairs of the new H.L.S. Building’s west side and took the elevator to Ursa’s office. On the fourth floor, she used the ladies room and freshened up. Then she walked into Ursa’s outer office. He greeted her from behind his receptionist’s desk.

  “Everybody, I mean everybody out of the office,” he said, speaking into the intercom. Then he said. “Polaris, take an hour break.”

  “Roger that,” Polaris said from within her head.

  “I must be special to receive this treatment.”

  “This conversation is between you and me.” Ursa stood and motioned her into his office. “You know Hans Van Meer.”

  “Yes, Arthur’s best man. Why?”

  “Ever read the cartoon, Spy versus Spy?”

  “You mean those triangle-faced, black and white guys in Mad Magazine.”

  Ursa nodded. “Yes. We have a serious version of Spy versus Spy going on as we speak. The C.I.A placed agents inside MI6. MI6 embedded agents inside the CIA. Now we find out a Son of Tiw has penetrated Homeland Security. We don’t know who he is. We don’t know where he is.”

  Ursa paced behind his desk, and Peacock sat down in a comfortable chair. “You’re going to be busy,” Ursa said. “Van Meer is in this country to carry out an assassination attempt against Monroe.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Irrelevant. I want you to find out what Van Meer’s plans are.”

  “By when?”

  “As soon as possible, if Monroe wins the House vote in January, a strike against him will be eminent.”

  “I’ve vowed to kill Martin.” She got up. No point getting comfortable. She stepped away from Ursa assessing the timetable. “I’m to be in G
ermany with Arthur for the Stromiehre signing, around the same time as the House runoff. I’ll kill Martin before I leave.”

  Peacock tested her implant listening for any sign that Polaris might still be connected.

  “Polaris has signed off. Trust me.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I’ll tell you why he’s not listening. Your scans have shown an increased level of excitement when you’re with, or talking about, Arthur Pendleton.”

  My scans?

  Apparently, that implant was more than a communications device. “Yes, of course they would. He is an excellent choice for me, sexually I mean.”

  “You don’t react to anyone else that way. Polaris gets a few jumps on your emotional bubble, but only in playful moments.”

  “And you, Ursa, how do I react to you?”

  “As you should, with obedience and respect.”

  Peacock evaluated Ursa’s concerns. He hit a sore spot in her psyche. Ursa had more to worry about than he knew. Peacock adored her Arthur. “I have a minor question. Will there ever come a time when you permanently remove the implant?”

  Ursa chuckled. “Not while you’re alive. Frankly, I’m concerned about you. These emotional readings where Pendleton is concerned could compromise your position with Hercules.”

  “Are you questioning my loyalty?”

  “Intellectually and consciously, no, I question what might be lurking in your subconscious.” He sighed. “What might happen in a split second of indecision? It’s your death if you hesitate and all of us love you.”

  She ran the logic of his statement against the facts of her past before the accident that killed everyone she loved.

  “My code of loyalty supersedes any emotion I will ever feel, if I ever learn to feel emotions again. I will admit, however, that the sexual attraction and power of the man intrigues me.”

  “We’ve been surprised. Pendleton seems to love you very much.”

  “I’m not surprised. I can have the heart of any man I choose. Your putting me with Pendleton was ingenious.”

  “Of course,” Ursa replied. “While you’re in Europe, I have a third assignment for you. I need you to go through Pendleton’s briefcase, his wallet, and his suitcases. Photograph and send every piece of information you find. Polaris, Vega, and Rigel will help you.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “In any case, you have my permission to kill Martin. But this is an order. You need to push Pendleton from his pedestal. Work the Lagoon Room all week next week. Pick whoever suits you. Invite them to your room. Enjoy the pleasures of being uninhibited. Then we’ll concentrate on killing Martin and finding Van Meer.”

  That directive would have been no problem before Pendleton came into her life. The very fact that she revolted at the idea now told her Ursa was right on with his previous conclusions. Another plan was playing in her mind. Still in the muddling stages, Ursa’s directive pushed it to the forefront.

  “Fine,” she said. “The relaxation will hone my skills.”

  Chapter 20

  Arthur Pendleton took notice of every detail from the cold reception Throgmorton received at the Kremlin. The guards at the doors stood stiff and straight. But the real tension came from the glares being fired between the hosts and his boss. Throgmorton lounged back in his chair as he sat next to Pendleton in a small room in the State Kremlin Palace—a sparse room considering the power of those present.

  The colors of the Russian flag in the room were vivid, as well as irritating. Although there was no official meaning to these colors, history suggested the blue was for the Tsar or valor, the red for the people or loyalty, and the white for God or peace.

  Russian President Serge Latovsky drummed his thick fingers on the table. Slightly balding, Latovsky combed his hair forward to cover his forehead. A graying mustache graced his upper lip. He stared across the table at Throgmorton with piercing slate-blue eyes. Mid-morning had arrived in Moscow. In America, the Electoral College would cast votes today with the outcome already pre-determined.

  “Getting right to the point,” Latovsky said. “I’m only few months away from pulling four of our brother states back under our military’s control.”

  He stopped drumming his fingers and folded his arms across his chest. “They’re fearful of the radical Islamic world. Georgia’s almost bankrupt. But Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, and Kazakhstan are goldmines. With them under our military protection, we have friendly roads to go through if I attack Iran and then Iraq.”

  He lowered his eyebrows and rubbed his hands together. “But will take money, yes? So what do you want in return for finances you bring me?”

  “We want a larger share, at least half, and more like seventy percent of the oil you pump through the Belarus pipelines.” Throgmorton looked straight at Latovsky. Pendleton had seen Throgmorton in negotiations before. Assume power, if not challenged, you have power. Throgmorton had mastered that strategy. “Iranian oil will flow to Europe through you, Serge.”

  “So, I cut off that oil if I get upset with you.” Serge chuckled.

  “Only if you want to face bankruptcy,” Throgmorton snapped. “Remember, we control the oil prices. For that matter, we control the Vodka prices as well.”

  Throgmorton sat up straight, eyes still focused on Latovsky, legs firmly planted. “We want Iran neutralized. We thought the Americans would help. We don’t need them if you’re willing. We also want Israel neutralized. You will do both.”

  The whole tone of the conversation smacked of male machismo. Shortcutting Claymore by going straight to Latovsky was the right thing to do. But Throgmorton’s attitude bothered Pendleton.

  Throgmorton cracked his knuckles. “Meanwhile, the European Union will commit to two things to clear your way. First, we’ll influence the U.N. to approve and support your actions in attacking Iran and Iraq. Second, we’ll give you access to Israel through Syria and Jordan, by convincing them to cooperate.”

  “Radical Islam is the enemy of all three key players, Mother Russia, the European Union, and the Israelis,” Latovsky said. He’d voiced this opinion before in a speech to the United Nations.

  “I want all Iranian oil to flow into Belarus pipeline.” He pounded his fist against the arm of his chair. “I want our rogue states peacefully reunited with Russia. But that will take time.”

  Now is the time to dangle the carrot, Pendleton thought. He didn’t wait for Throgmorton to speak. “I want your people to talk to this man in MI6.”

  Pendleton handed Latovsky a name written on a slip of paper. “We do need the United States, but not in the way you might think. The U.S. completed the programming to convert the space-based Star Wars system to full offensive strike capability.”

  “What!”

  “Yes, with operational weapons systems and global defense network tie-ins.” Britain prided itself in its scientific capabilities, but this achievement by the U.S. even amazed Pendleton. “The interesting thing about systems like these is you don’t have to pay the cost of deploying them to use them. You only have to be able to operate them remotely.”

  Latovsky paled, while Pendleton locked his new partner into the trap. He pointed to the piece of paper. “This man in MI6 will be your contact. He’ll help you use the programming when the time is right.”

  Latovsky widened his eyes. “You can do this for me?”

  Throgmorton butted in. “No, we’re doing it for us. You’re not getting the programming, Serge. MI6 is getting the programming with my money.”

  Pendleton remained silent. Throgmorton took the credit again. Fury grew inside Pendleton. He made a decision. Throgmorton had to go. Now!

  “I purchased this interesting, greedy mind inside the U.S. Space Command and Control Complex.” Throgmorton rocked back in his chair. “He’ll help us with the remote access. This man will give our people the code of operation for the programming sequences the hour you have my approval to use it. At which time, E.U. scientists and your scientists will fire missiles at pre-dete
rmined targets inside Iran and the rest will fall to you. Your MI6 contact will keep you advised.”

  “But America will know the instant missiles are accessed.”

  “True, but they’ll only have ten to fifteen seconds to stop it.”

  “Are you considering attacking America?” Latovsky’s jaw dropped.

  “No,” Throgmorton laughed. “You’ll use their missiles to attack Iran and America’s ally, Israel.”

  The Russian President grinned. “So when I’m ready, Russian Army sweeps past Iran’s borders in two waves, one toward Tehran and the other toward Tel Aviv. When Israel sees America aim and fire weaponry at them, they’ll crumble. What is left of them will beg for peace.”

  Throgmorton’s face brightened. “The more laughable situation will be America’s President trying to explain. I can hear it now. ‘I didn’t do it? And I don’t know who did.’ That will sound strange after you take to the airways and thank him for his support.”

  “You are insane.” Latovsky sucked in his cheeks, making a popping sound when he released them.

  “Yes, but brilliant. Don’t you think?” Throgmorton stood, let out a tiny belch, and pointed his finger at the Russian President. “Still, the process will take between two and four years to learn to reconstruct and use the software. Then we build the communications equipment to connect with the space-based missile bank and make our device operational. It’s not foolproof. But worth the effort.”

  “Does your association with Stromiehre technology have anything to do with this?”

  Throgmorton said nothing. For which, Pendleton was relieved.

  “You’re sure the United Nations will back the whole thing?”

  “We need the Middle East problem resolved.” Pendleton believed this in the depths of his soul. “Prime Minister Claymore will clear the way for you.”

  “Ah, you don’t bloody need her,” Throgmorton grumbled.

  “Also,” Pendleton went on. “If the major combatants fall in massive numbers, and their holy places are struck and held hostage to further attacks. They’ll surrender to preserve their heritage. We’ll put an end to all the bickering.”