Panic gripped his heart. Russian. I said it in Russian! She doesn't understand me.
Vasily switched to his horrendous English recited Mr. Snyder's warning, verbatim. The Princess's smile faded, but her eyes were filled with sudden alarm. Before Vasily could say more the second guard approached, his hand on the grip of a pistol that came out of nowhere. Another cough fought to escape Vasily's lips and in his effort to repeat the message one more time, it exploded from his mouth splattering pink phlegm on the Princess's face.
She recoiled with a gasp as the two guards shoved Vasily back from the table. He staggered under the onslaught of shouts before landing unceremoniously on his ass.
The chaos didn't start, however, until the woman behind him screamed.
Vasily looked up and saw the woman staring at the Princess. He followed her gaze and saw flecks of bright red blood on the future queen's porcelain cheek.
You fool! You were to deliver a message, not cough up blood on her face!
Worried he'd blown his chance at his bonus, Vasily struggled to his feet only to be tackled from behind by unseen security personnel. The air rushed out of his lungs and the burning sensation returned with a vengeance. A thick arm around his throat choked off Vasily's scream as he hit the ground.
Voices shouted all around him. The floor trembled as dozens of feet ran past. He struggled to turn his head and look up at the table in time to see guards physically pull the Princess off of her chair and rush her toward the exit. They had drawn their weapons, looking for someone to shoot.
Vasily tried to say something, but the arm around his throat tightened as more and more hands grabbed his arms and legs. They picked him from the floor like a sack of potatoes. A coughing fit began deep down in his lungs and Vasily could resist no longer—he choked and coughed and gasped, struggling for air. Wetness exploded up his throat, clogged his nose and coated his lips. It was salty. He tasted iron.
More people screamed and Vasily saw purple spots in his vision. The arm around his throat slackened, however. He rolled over, desperate for air. Through his blurred vision he saw several large men hastily step back as he continued to cough and writhe on the floor. Vasily brought a shaking hand to his mouth, and it came away sticky and bright red.
"What's happening?" he asked, shocked at the hoarse sound of his own voice. Vasily Andropov heard not words, but a choked gurgle when he tried to speak.
Panic flooded his system and his heart threatened to burst through his rib cage. He tried to take a deep breath but his lungs felt full of liquid. It was as if someone had poured a bottle of glue down his throat. He tried to scream, but the burning sensation in his lungs proved too powerful and nothing but a squeak escaped his lips. Vasily's eyes flew wide as his vision clouded. Surely a doctor would be on the way. Someone approached with a flashlight, he saw it through the gathering darkness.
That has to be a doctor! She's a Princess—she'd never be allowed to roam about without a medical staff.
A yellow-clad figured emerged out of the growing shadows and knelt. Vasily blinked up at the grotesque figure, encased in some sort of space suit. The man inside the mask looked scared and his voice was muffled.
Vasily coughed, splattering bloody mucus on the man’s face mask. He fell back and raised a hand to protect his visor. A second suited person appeared, looming over Vasily’s face. This one was a woman. She shook her head, a sad expression on her long face. Vasily gasped for breath and saw spots cover the woman’s face.
As Vasily fell into the well of unconsciousness, his last thought before slipping into black nothingness was a weak question: Did I get the message out?
CHAPTER 20
Skye, Scotland.
Dunkeith Castle.
MY DEAR, THAT SPEECH was masterful. I don't think I've ever heard President Barron give a more rousing oration! Well done," said Reginald, a glass of Glenfiddich held in salute.
Jayne's image beamed on the monitor. "Why, thank you," she purred. She casually flipped her hair over a shoulder. "You don't think it was too much?"
"No, no, not at all," Reginald said over the rim of his tumbler. "I think it was perfect. Just the right combination of sincerity and zeal. The old boy still has fire left in his belly, what?" Reginald chuckled. "Quite a waste to throw such talent aside, don't you think?"
Jayne frowned. "Don't tell me you're having second thoughts? The plan's already in play."
Reginald stared at the ceiling for a moment. "No—no change of heart. Just…wondering what could have been, I suppose," he finished. "Your plaything held such promise—such potential. Imagine what we could have done had he reacted differently to the administration of your charms…" Reginald let a corner of his mouth curl. "Ah well, water under the bridge, eh?"
Jayne was silent for a moment. "They're not going to like this, you know. Harris will be annoyed."
"I suppose—the question is how far he'll go."
"You don't think he'd try anything against me, do you? I'm going to be ridding him of the thorn in his side. He'll be the sole remaining President."
Reginald nodded, watching the light play off the melting ice cubes in his glass. "Yes, of course. I wonder, though…" He paused for a moment, looking at Jayne. "How's the progress on your tunnel?"
Jayne sighed. "I wish you'd stop calling it that. It sounds…vulgar."
Reginald laughed. "Oh, that's rich, coming from you! Vulgar indeed!" He snapped his fingers and held up the empty glass. Bare feet padded across the hardwood floor behind him and a soft hand brushed his as the glass disappeared. His eyes flicked to the mirror above the fireplace and he watched the naked form of his latest plaything saunter to the wet bar. His eyes lingered on the pale white curves of her buttocks as they glowed in the firelight.
"The tunnel is proceeding as planned, thank you very much. If this all goes south, I should have a clear path straight to the museum."
Reginald nodded absently, his chin resting on his hand as he watched Vivian float back across the room, her hand gently cradling his refreshed glass. Reginald crossed his legs at the knee and accepted it with a smile and a wink. The girl blushed.
"Oh, you're good."
"Thank you, m'lord," she said in a voice soft as silk.
Reginald smiled. "No wonder the Italian minister fell so quickly for your charms…" He slid a hand up her leg and let his fingertips caress the soft, smooth skin of her upper thigh. She smiled and sighed, the sultry sound turning his mouth dry.
"If you'd like some privacy, we can talk later…" suggested Jayne with more than a little acid in her voice.
Reginald reluctantly tore his eyes away from the beauty before him and looked at the beauty on the screen. "Oh, my dear, I have no intention of hanging up. This is something I definitely want to watch."
The door to his study opened and a shaft of bright light silhouetted a second form as she stood in the doorway.
"You called for me, sir?" asked Charlotte. She walked confidently into the room, not waiting to be told to enter. As the door closed behind her, Reginald saw she wore nothing but a thin silk robe tied at the waist with a gold belt. The heels of her shoes clicked on the wood floor as she approached.
"Okay," said Jayne in a disgusted voice. "You may get off on watching, but I don't. I prefer doing."
Reginald smiled as he looked at his watch. "Very well, let's begin the final act. I believe the satellite should pass overhead any minute. You'll have the best ability to transmit shortly."
Jayne's image turned and the screen went blank.
Charlotte purred and as she reached his side, one hand trailing the leather armrest of his chair. She stepped in front of him and gracefully dropped to her knees. One hand landed on his lap—a light, delicate touch—as she arched a sculpted eyebrow.
Reginald's smile widened. He remembered how well she had cared for him the last time. "Not tonight, my dear," he whispered. He placed his hands on top of hers, relishing the softness of her skin, yielding and warm. He reached with his free h
and and brought Vivian closer.
He put their hands together and watched with approval as their fingers intertwined. Charlotte looked up as Vivian looked downward, sultry smiles spread on both their faces as their eyes met. Without missing a step, Charlotte rose and slowly embraced Vivian. Their tenderness would've convinced almost anyone the two women had been deeply in love with each other for years.
I do love to see the result of my training. Reginald lifted his drink in one hand and rested his chin in the other. He watched, one finger resting on his pursed lips as his latest operatives kissed.
Movement on the screen drew his attention away from the show in front of him. Barron's transmission was beginning. Jayne strolled on camera and stepped behind the podium emblazoned with the Presidential Seal. She began her speech, her voice strong and confident, explaining to the citizens of the United States that she had been tireless in her fight to stop Barron's corruption.
Reginald split his attention. He knew the speech well—he'd written it. Jayne would go on for another 3 1/2 minutes, exposing the evils of Barron's reign and her own determination to fight it from the inside. In a few moments, Reginald knew she would denounce Barron's tactics and condemn the heinous prosecution of anyone loyal to President Harris. Jayne declared Barron unfit for office, named him a traitor, then proudly announced he'd been taken into custody. A great victory for the Constitution, justice, and the American people.
As Jayne spoke, Reginald's eyes drank in the sights before him. Charlotte and Vivian grew more passionate in their kissing and touching. Vivian untied Charlotte's belt and the thin fabric slid from her graceful shoulders, a whisper of silk on skin, to puddle at her feet. As Reginald watched, his breath caught in his throat.
One of them—Reginald didn't know which—sighed deliciously as the two naked women pressed their bellies together and snaked their arms around each other. Their mouths locked together, muffling a conjoined moan.
Reginald shifted his eyes to Jayne as she made her final announcement. Gruber and another agent dragged President Barron—now in chains like a common thief—to the podium. He looked bedraggled—the makeup had been removed, his hair had been tussled, and he looked like a fugitive.
Reginald smiled and drank deeply from his glass. The fire in his throat added fuel to the heat he felt in his groin. His eyes flicked back to Charlotte and Vivian as their hands went exploring, their breathing quickened, and their soft moans became more urgent. He marveled at their talents—it was a wonder he had not conquered the world sooner with women such as these.
"… Barron, I name you traitor to the Constitution and people of the United States of America."
The husk of a President jerked his head to the left and glared at Jayne. Reginald cocked his head and watched. There was anger behind those eyes—fury even. He'd hid it well, but Barron was still there, down inside that broken shell on the screen. At that moment, Reginald was glad this was about to end—he felt hatred radiate through the camera.
I thought you were broken. Bravo, Mr. President. You fooled even me…you gave the codes to Harris, sacrificing your only loyal servant. What more trouble might you have caused if we didn't go forward with this dog and pony show?
"I am not a traitor! You are!" Barron shrieked. He turned to the camera, his eyes blazing like a religious zealot. "My fellow Americans, hear me when I cry out—this woman has drugged me! Look at me!" Barron pleaded, raising his manacled hands. The handcuffs wrapped around his wrists gleamed in the camera lights and his bony wrists appeared childlike under the heavy chains. "Look what she did to me! She's been driving me—"
Jayne nodded and Gruber jerked Barron away from the podium, cutting off his ranting. Jayne stepped back to the podium as Barron struggled against the agents. He shouted something, but the microphone only picked up Jayne, muffling the indistinct noise behind her.
"Our great nation has suffered enough. While there is nothing I can do about the pestilence unleashed upon us by the North Koreans, there is something I can do to rectify the treason and growing in the heart of Washington these past months and years." Jayne turned and stared at Gruber. "Do it."
Barron's face twisted in a mask of rage. He screamed and thrashed, then turned and sunk his teeth into the neck of the taller agent. The man yowled and let go, swinging a fist that connected with Barron's face. The erstwhile President staggered under the blow and crashed into the blue drapery behind the stage. Gruber shouted and dropped into a crouch as he drew his weapon.
"Gun! He's got a gun!" called an indistinct voice off-camera. Jayne screamed and a third Secret Service agent rushed on-screen to knock her from the stage.
President Barron turned and pointed the pistol at the taller agent. The bleeding man threw his hands up. Reginald saw the empty holster at the agent's side and leaned forward. This was not part of the script.
Well done, Barron, well done. I see the side effect of our little love potion has finally kicked in. I wonder why such unbridled aggression never manifested itself earlier? Of all our test subjects, you lasted the longest. Fascinating.
Barron raised the pistol and aimed it at the bleeding agent. Two shots rang out and red flowers blossomed on the President's chest. He staggered back as if punched and dropped to his knees, falling out of view with a clatter. The image shook and chaos erupted.
People shouted, suited Secret Service agents swarmed the stage, and Reginald glimpsed blonde hair flash by as Jayne left the area. The image went dark, replaced with the White House logo over a Presidential Seal on a blue background.
Reginald laughed. "Not exactly as planned, but I shall take it!" He turned his attention back to the two lovers next to him. Charlotte kissed Vivian's neck while her hands caressed her body. Vivian had one hand intertwined in Charlotte's flame red hair, while her other hand caressed one of Charlotte's exquisite breasts. Vivian leaned into Charlotte's kiss and placed one naked thigh between Charlotte's.
The monitor displaying the Presidential Seal went black for a split second before Jayne's face appeared, grown larger-than-life. Out of breath, she blinked, surprise and anger fighting for control. "Did you see that?"
Reginald kept his eyes on the two women in front of him but spoke to Jayne. "Yes, dear…I saw everything." He sighed as Charlotte and Vivian rocked their hips in sensuous rhythm. Any moment now, he figured the two of them would find their way to the rug in front of the wide fireplace.
"You performed admirably, Jayne." He tore his eyes away for a moment and glanced at the screen. "Really—one for the books. Tell me, is he dead?"
"What do you think?" Jayne snapped, her eyes on the women next to Reginald. "He took two to the chest!" She rubbed her forehead and noticed her arm. "Oh no," Jayne muttered, "he got blood all over my favorite blouse." She looked up. "He really lost it there at the end. You should have seen his eyes…"
"Yes, I noticed. That was the kind of result we expected from the get-go. All the others experienced the side-effects much sooner. I do hope Dr. Salcotti was taking notes." Reginald chuckled. "Well, at any rate, that little performance should buy you some time. Go and change your shirt, then give President Harris a call. You don't want to do it now—give the man time to think about the ramifications of what just happened…" He felt his attention drawn back to his two pets. Charlotte reluctantly pulled temporarily away from Vivian's embrace and led her closer to the fireplace.
I knew it.
Jayne said something, but Reginald couldn't hear it. He looked to the screen and watched her speak to someone off-camera.
"What is it?" he asked
Jayne turned back to the camera and smiled, holding up a cell phone. "Guess who's calling me?"
Reginald sat up straight and momentarily forgot about the two naked women writhing on the rug. "Really? Harris is calling you already? That's soon."
"Well it's not Santa Claus," muttered Jayne as she activated the speaker-phone. "Speaker Harris, what a pleasant surprise—"
"Cut the bullshit, young lady. I don't know w
hat sick, twisted game you think you're playing, but your actions tonight will not be tolerated."
Reginald watched as Jayne's brow creased. "Why, whatever are you talking about, Orren?"
"Don't 'Orren' me, you bitch," hissed the President of the United States. "You may have wrapped Barron around your finger easily enough, but I think you'll find I'm harder to tame."
"You're welcome, then."
"'You're welcome?'" repeated President Harris. "I didn't call you to thank you. I called to accept your surrender."
Jayne stared pointedly at the camera and arched an eyebrow. "Surrender? For what? You have a funny way of expressing your gratitude, Mr. President. I just killed the new Benedict Arnold. A simple thank you would be enough."
"Thank you? You really are delusional, aren't you? You executed the Vice President of the United States on live TV. You think I'm going to thank you? You're sick. Removing you and your associates from existence will be a pleasure. I'm just sorry I won't be able to put you down myself."
Jayne paled. "Now, just a second—"
Reginald heard the faint click that signaled President Harris had hung up. "Well…" he intoned. "That was…something."
"Shit!" said Jayne as she threw her cell phone on the floor.
Reginald turned and watched as Vivian climaxed loudly. Charlotte's moans increased in volume. "I think you better see to your tunnel, Jayne."
"So that's it? After all this, after all the work, after being trapped in this god-forsaken hole for the past few weeks, that's it? 'See to my tunnel?'"
Reginald stood and unbuttoned his shirt. "Oh, Jayne, trust me—that's not all. We're just getting started, my dear." He paused, the shirt half off his torso. "Nevertheless, I think it would be prudent if you came home." He dropped his shirt to the floor and stared at Jayne's image on the screen. "Sooner rather than later, I think—don't you agree?"
Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga Page 12