“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.
Okay, so we’re going to ambush the flu. But…
What if…(you knew that was coming) some bad guys—like, I don’t know, Al Qaeda, the Taliban, Iran, or maybe North Korea (ahem)—found out how these scientists created this uber-flu? (By the way, the guy in charge of this experiment wanted to publish his findings in an international medical journal.) Common sense says the bad guys would weaponize it as fast as possible.
And thus, the story you just read was born.
As for the Department of Defense Directive in Chapter 28, it’s real. Do a Google look-up on Directive No. 3025.18 and prepare to be amazed.
Sometimes, the truth really is stranger than fiction.
Marcus Richardson
August 22, 2014
Acknowledgements
NO MAN IS an island, or so the saying goes. I would like to thank so many people that helped bring this book into existence, I fear I would need to write another volume just for the acknowledgements. So here’s the abridged version:
Without the love and support—and some good-natured joshing—of my wonderful wife, I wouldn’t have even attempted to write this book. Whenever I slowed down or ran out of a momentum, she was there to give me a shove in the back. Nothing says ‘love’ like “Stop screwing around and get back to work!”
All kidding aside, my wife is awesome.
I’d also like to express my gratitude to Kerre for her medical knowledge and advice, without which, the nurses in this book would have fared far worse (and I wou
ld likely never be able to have any future hospital visit without risking an unfortunate “complication”)! Thank you!
My sincere thanks also to (in no particular order) the following for reminding me to keep feeding the MOAR monster: NeverReady, kokosmom2, MountainMan, ConradCa, SheWoff, 2medicine woman, bagpiper, irishmafia, real wowwee, DarkLight, HellsScoutAct , topdoc, and RunAndGun. Thank you all for your encouragement (and patience)!
I need now make special mention of a certain shady character that goes by the handle “Rotag”. He volunteered to be my primary beta reader (and editor), so if you find any stupid mistakes in this book, it’s his fault. Just kidding—he’s a great guy and really went out of his way to help me make this book as polished as possible. I assure you, any mistakes in this book are purely my own.
As for the rest of my family and friends—you know who you are—I hope I have expressed how very much I value your continued support and encouragement for my writing.
THANK YOU.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MARCUS GRADUATED FROM the University of Delaware and later earned his J.D. at the age of 26. Since then, he has at times been employed (or not) as: a highly over-qualified stock boy, cashier, department manager at a home furnishings store, assistant manager with a national arts and crafts chain, an acting store manager with the same chain, an unemployed handyman, husband, cook, groundskeeper, spider-killer extraordinaire, stay-at-home-dad, and writer.
He currently lives with his wife, children, and one cheeky vizsla in Wisconsin—and he couldn’t be happier you’re taking the time to read this.
Discover more about Marcus on the FAQ page of his website.
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[Books by Marcus Richardson]
THE FUTURE HISTORY OF AMERICA
Book I: Alea Jacta Est
Book II: Sic Semper Tyrannis
Book III: Dux Bellorum
THE WILDFIRE SAGA
Book I: Apache Dawn
Book II: The Shift
Book III: Firestorm
Other books in the WILDFIRE series:
False Prey (Novella)
The Wildfire Bundle (Books I-III)
Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga Page 50