Roger struck his desk again. “I had everything. I had this situation under complete control!” he yelled. “I want Mallard, Enchida and Bellson dead, along with Tyler, Banks and the rest of the turncoats!”
Tim stared at Roger. The man was coming unglued. All it would take to kill him was for Tim to pull out his Glock 19 and pullet a bullet in the man's head. However, Tim was in no position to risk turning Roger's allies into his enemies; not at the moment, anyway.
Tim could surely claim he killed Roger because evidence had surfaced that the man had orchestrated the fall of President Green by utilizing false lies. He could even claim that Jessica Mayes was not guilty of the charges Roger had brought against her, but the man was not prepared to take on Roger's most loyal puppets without having the backing of the media, America, and even President Green. Such measures, at the moment, were impossible to achieve.
“Sir, the Red Leaders have all gone into hiding.”
“Find them!” Roger screamed, as his face glowed red with rage. “I don't want excuses—”
“You find them!” he yelled at Roger, shocking the evil man. Tim wasn't sure what happened to finally cause his loss of cool. “You and I both know it is an impossibility to track down those men! Right now, we have to focus on damage control. Do you hear me?”
Roger stared at Tim, grinding his teeth together, and hissed, “I should kill you for speaking to me like that!”
“Then kill me,” Tim hissed back. “We have created a war within this nation! The fires are growing!” Tim pointed a hard finger at Roger. “President Green has given the Pentagon, especially General Garcia, full authority. Our friends in the House and Senate are in panic mode and didn't object; not after seeing the White House set on fire!” Tim turned away from Roger and pointed at a flat screen television. “Do you see them out dancing on the White House lawn? Do you? Those are people we hired to work for us. We're losing control!”
Roger continued to stare at Tim. The man had never spoken to him in such a manner before, let alone dared to raise his voice. Roger leaned back in his office chair and slowly folded his arms.
“Suggestions,” he demanded in a stern tone.
Tim turned back to face Roger. “At this point, I have no suggestions,” Tim confessed. “General Garcia is currently in a meeting with the two highest ranking military officials Russia and China have.”
“Bardin and Chen.”
“Yes,” Tim confirmed. “General Garcia is attempting to convince our enemies that America is not behind the attack.” Tim pointed to the flat screen television again. “General Garcia is attempting to expose the truth and may achieve his goal. He went through a great deal of stress and trouble to set up the meeting. If he succeeds, both Russia and China will stand down and let President Green try to calm the nation.”
“We can't allow that, Tim,” Roger demanded. “We have achieved great strides. America has almost fallen. We have a few more yards before we reach the goal line.”
“Sir, at this point, we may have to stand down,” Tim responded, feeling his temper cool and shocked that he was still standing on his own two feet instead of sprawled on the floor with a bullet in his heart. “We...it would be wise to allow President Green to handle the chaos, while we work on creating false evidence to present to the media.”
“Green would become a hero, and we would become villains. Our credibility is at stake, Tim,” Roger said, as his evil eyes narrowed into thin slits. “No, we must act now. We must reroute every bit of our energy and resources, and locate Jessica Mayes.”
“Sir—”
“Listen to me,” Roger growled. “We need the virus. Nothing can change that fact, Tim.” Like a slithery snake crawling out of a hole, Roger slowly unfolded his arms and stood up. “The question is; where is Jessica Mayes hiding?”
Roger walked over to the flat screen television and studied the burning White House. Thousands of protestors were dancing, shouting and yelling while firing guns and rifles into the air in front of the flames. What the protestors didn't seem to understand was, that eventually they would all need food, water, medicine, housing and financial stability. The country they hated and despised so much—a country that supplied everything that each protestor required—would no longer be able to provide those needs.
America was crumbling from the inside out. Once that part was over, the paid puppets would realize the truth. They had been used. Yes, truth, honor and the American way had been the course of freedom all along. Once the protestors realized they had been used, they would, of course, protest even more. They would demand free food, water, medicine, housing, and so on, but would be answered with bullets instead of freebies. That was the way it went.
“Surely, Jessica Mayes will use the chaos to move,” he assured Tim. “But where?”
“I'm not certain, Sir.”
Roger forced his mind to calm down and think. “Tim, I want everyone who has been in contact with Jessica Mayes within the last five days to be in my office in three days,” he ordered. “We'll start at square one and work our way up the ladder. It's possible someone Jessica Mayes has been in contact with may know something.”
“Jessica Mayes was, more or less, a very quiet woman,” Tim pointed out. “I'm afraid she didn't have very many friends.”
“No matter,” Roger replied. “Jessica Mayes wrote children’s books. I want her publisher in my office. I want the people she taught with, while working as a teacher, in my office. I want neighbors, people she may have chatted with at a coffee shop, family…anyone. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Sir.” Tim checked his watch. “Sir?”
“Yes?”
“What about Wendy Cratterson? What about the text she sent you?” Tim asked.
“I'm sure Wendy Cratterson and her team are behind the betrayal I'm currently facing,” Roger answered, pretending to be a victim. “It doesn’t matter. In the end, Wendy Cratterson will be dead. I assure you of that, Tim.” Roger sat back down behind his desk. “At this point, we have to focus all of our resources on locating Jessica Mayes.”
“Forty percent of the media—”
“I know, Tim,” Roger nodded his head. “Fear is making our closest friends act very foolishly.”
“Senator Lasterson has become very problematic,” Tim pointed out. “Our people control the Senate and could have fought Green on his order to give the Pentagon authority over the violence. Lasterson supported the measure.”
“Lasterson is a coward,” Roger snapped. “I'm sure General Garcia had a talk with him.” Roger's eyes began dripping with venom. “Lasterson always watches his own back. That rat has been walking a thin line with me for the last four years.”
“Lasterson won't be the last,” Tim promised.
“I'm certain of that,” Roger nodded his head and glanced back at the flat screen television. “Contact our players in the media. I want all of our focus back on Jessica Mayes.”
“Sir, that may prove difficult,” Tim stated in a regretful tone. “If we stop all coverage on the violence, the American people may react more violently. I... sir, as much as it pains me to admit this, there are more of them than us, and they are more heavily armed. Mind control has always been our main weapon--”
“Yes, I understand your point, Tim.” Roger lifted his right hand and rubbed his cheek. “On second thought, perhaps it would be wise to continue covering the violence. This might allow Jessica Mayes the opportunity to believe she is in the clear to move.” Roger studied Tim's stern face and nodded, “Yes, on second thought, that might be very wise.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Move,” Roger ordered. Tim began to turn and leave but Roger called out, “Tim?”
“Yes, sir?”
“If you ever raise your voice to me again, you're a dead man,” Roger warned.
“Yes sir,” Tim responded and quickly left Roger's office.
“Maybe it's time for you to die,” he whispered in an angry vo
ice, but again decided to wait before killing Roger Alden. Tim was fully aware that such drastic actions required careful planning; extremely careful planning.
As Tim walked away from Roger Alden's office, a group of people belonging to the KKK clashed with a group of people belonging to the Black Panthers. Over seventy men pulled out guns and knives and went to war, slaughtering each other because their skin color was different. When the battle ended, River Street, in Savannah, Georgia, was soaked with blood, filled with screams of pain, and death. Sixty-four men died because they decided hate was more powerful than truth; not realizing that the hatred eating them alive shared the exact color. Black. The hate that a man wearing a KKK cloak harbored was no different than the hate a man belonging to the Black Panthers harbored. In the end, the hatred had become a common bond that had united them in an eternal, black darkness. But, so what, right? A white man had to hate a black man, and a black man had to hate a white man. That's the way society, the media, the movies, the schools and colleges, altered truth in order to support lies; lies that caused men to hate each other based on skin color. Society was simply showing the results of what it had created in private labs.
But further away, in a little town outside of Savannah, a white man and a black man who had been neighbors for over ten years, gathered their families into the black man’s house and hunkered down together as a family who loved each other. Both the white man and the black man claimed to be Christian conservatives and were hated by the media, society and the general public. They marked both men as enemies of the people because they stood for the Word of God, not the evil and corrupt way of mankind. Yes, in a little blue house on Downing Street, Mark Johnson and Paul Milford held hands and bowed their heads. They began to pray, united in Jesus Christ, instead of being separated by skin color.
In a town called Allerson, Texas, a white rancher and his family joined hands with a Hispanic family who worked for him and began to pray, as one heart. However, as they prayed, a group of illegal aliens, who had no moral conscience, appeared on the scene. Knowing full well the chaotic trauma America was experiencing, and how badly all law enforcement officials were strained, they gunned down the rancher, his family and the Hispanic family. No cops would appear anytime soon.
After carrying out the gruesome murders, the group of illegals stole money and jewelry and raced away in the rancher's truck toward a sanctuary city where murderers were protected instead of brought to justice. Ah, America was great, at least for criminals. If you were an honest, law abiding citizen who worked hard for a living, America wasn't the land for you.
In Atlanta, as the murdering illegal aliens escaped in the rancher's truck, a group of Neo-Nazis attacked a Jewish neighborhood with firebombs. Because the Jewish families understood history, they had never forgotten the Holocaust and were prepared for the current hatred of the world. Brave Jewish men stationed themselves at living room, kitchen, bedroom and dining room windows to shoot down every Neo-Nazi that tried to hurl a firebomb. The Neo-Nazis eventually retreated but soon returned with assault rifles. For eight hours, a horrible firefight took place. But then, a miracle occurred. A group of over two-hundred men who had formed the 'North Georgia Military Protective Group' had gotten word about the attack the Jewish families were facing. Even though it took some time, they arrived on the scene just as the Neo-Nazis began to call in reinforcements. By the time the fight ended, nearly every Neo-Nazi lay dead. To everyone’s shock, not a single Jewish person was harmed and not a single North Georgia fighter had received a scratch.
Yes, although America was currently being destroyed, there were still good people who were fighting the good fight. Jessica Mayes, unaware that such fights were taking place, understood that, unless people fought, they would be given two choices: assimilate or be killed. America had become a giant concentration camp that was slowly closing its doors on innocent people. It was time to fight or die. It was now or never.
“I have the water!” Jessica called out, as she grabbed a backpack holding numerous bottles of water.
“I have the food,” Alvin answered Jessica, grabbing a box full of supplies. “Mandy?”
“I have the laptop,” Mandy said, leaning against a rundown table. “The battery is fully charged.”
“I have my Bible,” Tom promised, walking over to Jessica and checking the woman's eyes. “Jessica...Mrs. Mayes...I've never told you this before,” he confessed, “but somewhere in time, I have a feeling we've met.”
Jessica looked deeply into Tom's worried eyes as the background of the depressing basement shaded the man's back.
“Pastor Braston,” she whispered, “are you sure you never met my husband?”
“Not that I can recall,” Tom answered. “But maybe my memory isn't what it used to be. All I do know is that I'm supposed to be at your side.” Tom gently patted Jessica's shoulder, checked the basement, and then looked at Jacob who was examining his gun. “Ready?”
Jacob nodded his head. “Let's move.”
He bravely walked his team out into the heavily falling snow and bitter winter wind that howled and screamed like a dying animal. Darkness and misery immediately greeted the man's heart. Maybe darkness and misery would be the end result for all of his efforts. Jacob didn't know. As he walked toward the church van, he knew there was a battle to fight, no matter the outcome of the war.
Chapter 5
Out of Control
Wendy Cratterson tossed four Advil into her mouth and washed the pills down with a bottle of Dr. Pepper. Even though Boris Petrov's dear and close doctor had finally given her the green light, Wendy wasn't so certain deep down that she was healthy enough to step back onto the battlefield.
“All positions have now been jeopardized,” she told Lionel.
Lionel studied Wendy's beautiful, but deadly face with careful eyes. “Boris is pleased.”
“He shouldn't be,” Wendy informed Lionel, rubbing her eyes. She glanced out of the windshield of a black BMW and studied a cold river running through the middle of a snowy, frozen park that had been left to die. “Money talks. You know that. All I did was pay some parasites more money than Alden was paying them.”
“A lot more money,” Lionel pointed out, unable to take his eyes off Wendy. Being alone with the woman while parked in a dark parking lot outside a small town in Virginia made him feel as if, perhaps, there was a chance to heal; a chance to love.
“Wendy—”
“Don't,” Wendy told Lionel in a sharp tone, reading the man's voice. “Mr. Petrov ordered me to work with you, and I'll obey the man's order. Is that clear?”
Lionel slowly folded his arms, looked out of the driver's side window, and shook his head. “There was once a time—”
“That time is long dead,” Wendy cut Lionel off. “We're sitting here waiting for a contact. Nothing more.” A sharp pain shot down the middle of her forehead. She closed her eyes and waited for the pain to pass.
“How bad?” Lionel asked.
“None of your business.”
“I was given strict orders by Dr. Millins to monitor your health,” Lionel reminded Wendy in a strict voice. “You've taken sixteen Advil in the last twenty-four hours. You're not supposed to take more than—”
“I know how many Advil I'm allowed to take within a twenty-four-hour period,” Wendy snapped. “I'm just…I shouldn't have flown so soon. That's all.” Her eyes slowly opened. “I left Ukraine when I wasn't ready.”
“We left Ukraine yesterday. You told Mr. Petrov that you felt ready.”
“I lied,” Wendy snapped again. “Lionel, I'm anxious to locate Jessica Mayes—”
“You will not kill her.” Lionel turned in his seat and locked eyes with Wendy. “I understand your taste for revenge is strong, but Mr. Petrov wants Jessica Mayes alive. The trap I set for Roger Alden to fall into has failed. I realize now that I acted in haste. Or did I? Since no response has been sent on behalf of Roger Alden, I'm forced to believe that I did act in has
te. I regret that, and so does Mr. Petrov. I assumed, when I had placed our bait, that Roger Alden would not be able to refuse. It seems that I was wrong. With that said, my full attention is now on Jessica Mayes. No harm is to come to that woman until we retrieve the virus. Is that clear?”
Wendy glared at Lionel with venomous eyes. “Jessica Mayes is a dead woman, is that clear?” she attacked Lionel. “That woman should be worm food. She's alive by chance and nothing more.” Wendy narrowed her evil eyes. “Jessica Mayes kicked me. I lost my balance. I will never make that mistake again.”
“Wendy, Jessica Mayes wasn't your only mistake,” Lionel stated, as heavy snow struck the front windshield of the BMW. “You left bread crumbs that Roger Alden followed.”
“Don't push me, Lionel!”
“I'm speaking the truth,” Lionel stated in a calm voice, hearing his thick British accent break free. “You assumed that you were smarter than Roger Alden.”
“Roger Alden is an idiot.”
“No, he isn't,” Lionel warned Wendy. “Your arrogance and pride are what harms you. They are what may land you in a deep grave.” Lionel shook his head, looked back out at the falling snow, and continued. “Wendy, Roger Alden isn't stupid. Neither are the people working under him. They understand the game. They understand the rules. They understand the risk. You aren't smarter than the collective disease that Roger Alden has infected people with.”
“Stop lecturing me!”
Lionel shook his head and began to scold Wendy, but stopped when he saw a flashlight with a green lens send out two long bursts, followed by five short ones.
“Our contact is here,” he told Wendy. After checking his gun, he turned on the BMW's headlights and flashed them two times. A man known as Laser watched the BMW throw a clear return signal into the dark night, and then he carefully eased out from behind a frozen tree. “Let me do the talking.” Wendy gave Lionel a deadly look before searching for Laser.
Green File Crime Thrillers Box Set Page 32