by Eric M Hill
***
Ashley looked out of the window, listening with disinterest at the voice on the other end of her earpiece that was telling her the soldiers escorting Dr. Anderson and Director Kellerman were not in on their plan. They were just following orders. The moment she shot Kellerman, they’d open fire on her.
Ashley laughed inside. Hadn’t she just taken out the White House chief of staff, with hundreds of people nearby? “I’m a ghost,” she said, liking her self-proclaimed nickname. “Invisible. I’ll be gone before the blood hits the ground.”
The men turned a street corner. Good. Two soldiers six feet in front, two six feet behind. Super brain and the director in the middle. The rifle rested on a tripod. Ashley was on one knee with the butt of the rifle against her shoulder. She looked approvingly through the scope. “Come to mama. You first, Director.” She placed her finger on the trigger and held her breath.
The ghost pulled the trigger.
Chapter 72
President Cuning watched the television as though he was zooming in on his own open heart surgery. His phone vibrated against his chest. He let it vibrate more. Each time it did, his countenance got darker. He imagined what he was about to be told. Everyone involved in this failure would be killed, he promised himself. He answered. His voice was scratchy and low with suppressed rage.
“Jeffrey, does your master plan include killing my enemies on the Capitol steps?”
Even now Jeffrey was going over his exit plan. In fact, he had turned the GPS off on his phone and was calling from the airport. “No sir, Mr. President.”
“Does it include killing them inside of the Capitol?”
“No, Mr. President.” He let out a breath heavy with impatience as he looked up at a screen that showed flight arrival and departure times. “It doesn’t.”
“Then I assume that since I am presently watching Dr. Anderson and Director Kellerman walking up the steps of the Capitol that you have failed.”
Someone touched the back of Jeffrey’s hand. “Steve?”
Jeffrey looked at the woman. He was too focused on survival to notice her attractiveness.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
Jeffrey turned from the woman in irritation and walked away. “We had a sniper. Someone shot her.”
“Someone shot your sniper,” President Cuning said, the hot lava in his chest spreading to every inch of his body. “You had one layer of attack for something this critical.”
“No, Mr. President, we had another shooter.”
“Don’t tell me. Let me guess.” Cuning took a few breaths to calm himself enough to speak and not scream. “Someone shot your second shooter.”
Jeffrey waited as long as he dared. “Yes, Mr. President.”
“So someone well connected is working against me. And I assume you have no idea who this someone is.”
“No sir. Whoever the shooters are, they’re like ghosts. No one saw anything.”
“You disappoint me, Jeffrey. Greatly.”
The phone disconnected.
Cuning peered into the television’s screen. When Dr. Anderson shook hands with Senator Pinkney, President Cuning let out a loud scream and violently swiped everything off of his desk onto the floor before tipping the desk over. He commenced to making White House history by becoming the first president to tear up the Oval Office.
He yelled, “It’s not over!” and stuck his leg through a portrait of George Washington that he had flung against the wall.
***
Jeffrey sat in a chair against the wall as he waited for the plane to start boarding. How could an hour feel so long? His eyes darted the concourse and suspiciously examined everyone who looked like a—what? A killer? What did a killer look like? he protested. He had worked long enough for Cuning to know they didn’t wear badges or bumper stickers on their foreheads advertising their lethal skills.
This wasn’t a television show where the caricature bad guy was shirtless and wore a black vest and was covered with tattoos. That’s what made them so dangerous. They were normal. Well, maybe not normal. They were cold and calculating and resourceful and merciless. Some did it for money. Some for money and pleasure. Like that Ashley. But the most dangerous of them looked like her. Normal.
Jeffrey’s mind clicked with fear. He thought of Ashley. Beautiful and deadly. He thought of the woman in the airport who had mistaken him for… She had touched him. He gasped and looked down at his hand. He looked at his palm. Then he looked at the back of his hand. It glistened.
Without thinking, he rubbed his index finger over his hand. It was like a thin layer of petroleum jelly. His heart fluttered in fear. Had the woman poisoned him? But how could she? Wouldn’t it kill her, too? Maybe she’d worn a glove. Had she? His frantic thoughts were interrupted with, “Now boarding for Premium passengers.”
His heart buoyed. He hopped up and walked quickly to the front, smiled tightly at the woman at the walkway entrance, and placed his palm on the glass. “Enjoy Germany,” she said.
He said nothing to her as he walked forward into the safety of the walkway to the aircraft. “I’ll enjoy England,” he said under his breath. No way was Italy going to be his final stop. He would drive from Germany to England.
He boarded the plane and sat in the comfy window seat and looked out the window. His fears were gone. He had always known this day was a possibility and had planned well. He had enough money to disappear and live in low luxury for at least several years. Maybe more if he didn’t act like a dumb lotto winner and spend like a fool. He smirked in triumph. He was no fool. Fools didn’t beat a man like Cuning.
Jeffrey sipped his drink and pushed back into the wide, cushy seat. He smiled and closed his eyes, savoring the taste of his whiskey.
That lady was wearing gloves! he thought. But it was too late. His muscles were no longer responding to his brain. In a moment, his respiratory system slowed, then stopped. His last terrifying minutes alive were spent screaming into the vacuum of his mind for help as he slowly suffocated in his first class window seat, with his index finger touching the rim of his glass, then dropping into his Kentucky bourbon.
You disappoint me, Jeffrey.
The menacing thought stood over his paralyzed body, pinching his nose shut and covering his mouth.
How did he know? I thought of everything. Nothing can stop this man.
Jeffrey’s eyes never opened again.
Chapter 73
President Cuning sat atop the side of the overturned Oval Office desk, staring at the television screen and thinking. He had always known that Dr. Anderson was the one man who could frustrate his plans for absolute power. But he had not seriously considered that the alien could get him not only impeached from office, but put in prison. Impeachment was one thing, but prison? Even Tunnelly and that clown vice-president of his didn’t go to prison.
Yet, the more he listened to Kellerman’s testimony, the more he envisioned impeachment and prison. People were fickle. Hadn’t the same people who welcomed Jesus as their messiah turned Him over to their own enemies only a few days later to be crucified? Even Jesus got a raw deal.
And I got a whole lot more enemies than Jesus ever had, he thought. What do you think this imbecile Congress is going to do to you when that traitor finishes with you? Cuning answered his own question with a dark calculation. “Congress is a puppet controlled by the people. Control enough people, you control Congress.” He picked up the phone. “Put the word out: I will have a press conference thirty minutes after that man shuts his slandering mouth.”
***
President Cuning walked into a room filled with hungry reporters. He was the meat; they were the carnivores. Yet, although the reporters were antsy, the room was silent. But not strangely so. Like intelligent animals who had learned that some potential meals could flip the script and make a meal of them, their hunger was now tempered with hard experience.
“Let me begin this meeting with you and with America by sta
ting that although much is at stake, I will be brief. First, I think it would be inappropriate for me to begin by defending myself. I will instead begin by saying how deeply saddened I am that we have lost a fine member of the White House press corps.
“As you know, Sandra Conner was violently attacked and killed a couple of hours or so ago by a predator. It does nothing to change this tragedy, nor does it lessen the pain that I know her loved ones are feeling. But the predator was caught shortly thereafter by police and killed. I am sure that we all share the same sense of rage that a courageous young defender of the Constitution suffered and died at the rapacious and murderous hands of a predator who finds protection behind that same Constitution.”
Cuning saw it in the reporters’ faces. The contempt. The hatred. But most of all, he noticed with approval, the fear. It was that fear that would prevent any of them from mentioning the irony of him simultaneously defending and attacking the Constitution. This felt good. He’d take it a step further and bend all of these Constitution lovers over in front of the whole world.
“Please, let’s all stand and remember Sandra Conner’s courage and life with a moment of silence.”
Everyone stood and bowed their heads in silence.
“Thank you. Please be seated. I told you that I would be brief.” President Cuning looked earnestly into the cameras. “I don’t need to remind you that our nation is unraveling or that presidents and Congresses before me have promised to deal with the predator problem. They did not and now our own Sandra is dead. They are presently speaking—this very hour—as though they will not. Thus putting tens of thousands of more Sandras into the hands of predators.
“I knew that when I proposed the Scientific Termination of Predators legislation that enemies would come at me from every direction. Some for humanitarian, but criminally naïve reasons. Some for political and self-serving reasons. But I must admit that I didn’t anticipate that my own Director of Violent Crime Eradication would do something like this.” Cuning shook his head and squinted his eyes as if in disbelief. “Would say something like this. I can only attribute this to one of two things.
“One is understandable. As you know, Director Kellerman’s beloved wife was recently murdered by a predator. He’s been under a lot of stress. He’s had problems in the past with substance abuse. Alcohol. He’s been on leave since his wife’s death and he hasn’t been doing well. Mentally, I mean. I hesitate to bring this up, but there is a history of mental illness in his family. And…” The president took a deep breath and released. “And Vince has had a nervous breakdown in the past,” he lied. But so what? He had to play every chip he had left.
“If this is the reason for his accusations, I don’t hold it against him. I only reveal this sensitive information because of the circumstances his distress has put me in, and because so much is at stake—your immediate safety, and the survival of our beloved nation. But the other possibility, and I pray to the good Lord this isn’t the case. But the other possibility is pure politics. Vince ran for president twice and lost twice. Obviously, he’s ambitious. There’s nothing wrong with that…if you don’t let it control you.
“I’m hoping it’s the former and not the latter.” He smiled. “Knowing Vince the way I do, I’m confident that this is just a case of extreme grief.” Cuning looked into the camera with an assuring smile. “No hard feelings, Vince. I forgive you and I’m sure America does, too.”
Cuning looked at the reporters. “The elephant in the room. Dr. Anderson.” He paused. “Our national treasure. It’s unfortunate, but it’s no secret that Dr. Anderson and I don’t see eye to eye on much. But I do believe he is as much a man of integrity as he is a national treasure. He has allied himself with Director Kellerman because he believes his stories.”
Every square inch of Cuning’s face seemed under the expert control of a master manipulator. It was obvious that his empathy for his enemy was genuine. His voice carried the pain of a person with a big, but wounded heart. “The good that Dr. Anderson has done for our nation: his inventions, his philanthropy, his patriotism—though at times misguided—are well known.
“Yet even someone as great as Dr. Anderson, with his wealth and brilliance and influence, is not outside of the reach of predators. Recently his daughter was savagely raped and murdered in broad daylight while out shopping.” His voice carried his anger.
“Predators haven’t taken anyone close to me. But I imagine that if I had lost my daughter, as did Dr. Anderson, and if I had lost my wife, as did Vince, Director Kellerman, I can see how I could very easily stand where both of those great men stand today. My grief and anger would compel me to look for someone to blame besides a faceless predator. I understand, and I hold no grudge.”
The reporters were amazed at the president’s audacity, and as much as they hated him, at his skill of deflection and deception. He had tracked poop onto the carpet and was now convincing everyone that it was chocolate cake, and that he should be admired for bringing something sweet into the house.
“Finally, I’d like to say this to those who support me, to those who see no choice but to support me, and to those who would like to support me but have misgivings. Everything that I have done, I have done for the preservation of this great nation. The House of Representatives has given me their vote of confidence. They have joined with me in earnest against the predators. Presently, the only thing that stands between you and safe streets is the United States Senate.
“Honestly, I don’t know what they’re going to do. They’re deliberating now, and for the life of me, I don’t know what there is to talk about! They have been talking for over thirty years. There’s a very real chance they may vote against you and for the predators.
“My fear is that while they try to make up their minds who deserves protection, you or the predators, tens of thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands, of armed patriots around the nation may take matters into their own hands. They may see the urgency of the moment and try to convince the Senate to do the right thing by breaking out into devastating riots.
“And who knows what the military may do? I’m sure they will be torn between their loyalty to me as their Constitutional commander-in-chief and fighting for the preservation of the nation, and obeying a Congress who values ideals over realities. That would be a devastating civil war. Desperate people do desperate things when their leaders fail them.”
President Cuning looked at the cameras with a confidence that assured some and terrified most. Now he scanned the room of shocked and bewildered and most of all, fearful reporters. “And, please, let’s not ever forget Sandra Conners. Any questions?”
For the first time in American White House press conference history, there were no questions.
“Good,” he said. “Let’s hope the Senate does the right thing.”
Chapter 74
Dr. Anderson had declined to testify and to sit on the main floor of the Senate chamber, choosing instead to sit in the second floor gallery while Director Kellerman spoke. He did this for a few reasons.
One, his views on this current administration and the growing police power of the government were well known. He hated Cuning and men like Cuning. He loathed how easily America allowed herself to be manipulated by Cuning and men like Cuning.
What more could he add, except to tell the world how much he missed his daughter? And honestly, the thought of an absentee father now telling the world after his daughter’s death how much he missed her was pure crap. You didn’t wait until a person was dead to express your love for her!
Two, America’s problems were deep-rooted and were way beyond one man’s ability to fix—no matter how smart he was and how much money he had. And even if he could single-handedly fix it, he wouldn’t. Because any nation that could be fixed by one man could be broken by one man. And if it could be fixed by one man, it could be controlled by one man.
America deserved better and it needed more. It needed to fix itself. It needed to do so within the context of law
. It needed an impartial referee, an umpire. Something greater and more powerful than the smartest or the richest or the most influential person. Something that could look a wily, ambitious criminal like Cuning in the face and say, “No!”
It needed the United States Constitution, a Congress that was responsive to the people it governed, and an independent Supreme Court beholden to no one’s vote and no one’s pressure.
Three, he was a hypocrite. For all his lofty ideals and speeches about the Constitution and freedom, he was in some ways more a wrecking ball to them both than Cuning, only in different ways. Cuning was willing to circumvent the Constitution to get what he wanted, and no matter how noble his stated reason, so was he.
What else could he call it? Yes, predators were dropping like flies, and lives were being saved, but why? Because he had violated the very ideals and laws that he had zig-zagged the country preaching about. And just how much of that was about patriotism and not about revenge? Why, he had even taken it upon himself to try to nullify the votes of ninety million people, with or without the Constitution’s help. So how did he really feel about the Constitution?
There was no doubt about it. Cuning had his black magic. But he had his white magic. Different colors. Different goals. But they both were witches.
Nonetheless, his eyes never left Kellerman’s face as he spoke. The nation needed STOP, but it couldn’t let a man like Cuning use it to become its first dictator. Hopefully, Kellerman’s revelations would shock America into growing up and throwing that criminal out of office and into prison. But something in Anderson’s gut didn’t feel good about it. History had proven that American democracy could also be a witch and cast surprising spells.
Several times there were gasps in the Senate chamber as Kellerman spoke. Each collective gasp chipped away at Anderson’s belief that America could recover itself. How could these people sit here and be surprised at the obvious? Were they just now discovering Cuning’s evil? Did someone really have to tell them how wicked this man was?