Smiling, she dismissed the thought and with one hand snatched up the book. Holding it upright, she began to read while her free hand plunged between silken thighs. In a minute, breathing heavily, she tossed aside the erotica. Cheeks flushed, expecting the bitch to knock on the door at any moment, there wasn’t much time. Using both hands, she worked faster, arched her back, and lived for the moment.
Chapter Three
KICK OFF
May 8, 12:30 (PDT)
Strapped to a gurney, arms spread, intravenous needles already inserted, Felix Manuel faced death. With the certainty looming, he tried to remain stoic. He wanted to leave with a calm dignity for his family and nation, but he couldn’t stop the tears.
Then, hovering above him, a man appeared whom he didn’t expect.
“Any last words?” asked the president of the United States, George Tower II.
Stunned by the apparition, blinking against the tears, Manuel grimaced.
“Are you with me?” asked the president with a smile.
Manuel stared with cold hatred and was about to lash out when he caught himself. Maintaining dignity throughout the ordeal was his highest priority, and he wouldn’t lose it now. Instead, in a shaky voice, he uttered the memorized words. “I, and my country, are innocent. History will expose the truth. No matter what happens, I love my family. To my wife and children, I send this message. I will always love you.”
“Anything else?” asked the president, seeming bemused.
Head unrestrained, Manuel shook it, causing tears to skitter down his pallid cheeks.
President Tower bent low, got close to the ear, and whispered a message. “The death chamber is soundproof. Through a one-way mirror behind me, important people are watching. My back is to them, so we can converse in private. Just so you know, the wine was tainted by my daughter with a noxious mix, causing more pain than you’ll ever experience. You did me a favor. My queer son-in-law wasn’t qualified to lead our righteous nation. She knew what she had to do.”
“Executing me isn’t enough? You need to rub my innocence over a family squabble in my face?” asked Manuel, fighting an urge to spit in the man’s face.
“No, no, nothing like that. I just wanted to thank you. Believe me. Although no one besides me will ever know it, you’re a great American hero, and not for ridding the nation of a pervert. That’s puny in comparison to the bigger role you played.”
“You are a sick, sick man,” said Manuel. “I don’t care about your phony self-justification. Just be done with it.”
“Oh, I will,” said the president. Then in a softer tone he continued. “But first, I want you to understand. It’s important to me. I’m not evil or self-serving, just the opposite. Back before succession, our nation was headed for war. Just as our Founding Fathers feared, a two-party system was bound to fail. My father loved our country, as I do, and saved bloodshed by allowing a peaceful split. From that point, rid of the liberal mobs destroying our morale fabric, we began to rebuild. Through his strength and mine, law and order, and the constitution as it was written were restored and then modified to keep us strong. Now, we’re a greater nation, united in our foundational conservative beliefs. Instead of rancor, we move forward together, making our nation better every day.”
Manuel glanced at his arms strapped to the table, and fear rippled through his spine. A wild thought struck him. Before the president could continue, he blurted, “You don’t have to execute me. Please, I seek your humanity.”
Still bent over, in a low whisper, the president replied, “I wish it were possible. You’re not just a puppet, you’re a hero and deserve better.”
“The death of your son in-law is not heroic. I don’t understand,” said Manuel. His mind raced with the possibility of getting the man to lift the curtain of death.
“Let me explain. Your beloved country has developed a technology that, in the wrong hands, including their own, will bring chaos and death. They’re keeping it a secret, from you, from everyone. But they don’t know how to use it. They’re too soft. But I learned of their clandestine shenanigans, and your crime gives me the excuse to take control. Right now, I have an army poised on the border demanding retribution for your horrendous crime. I intend to use those troops to seize the technology. Once I have it in my grasp, unlike anyone else, I will use it wisely. Under my leadership and that of my descendants after me, the technology will protect us and ensure our long-term survival. Instead of a world controlled by nothing but the Chinese, Americanism will thrive. Because of me, and your death, the world will know peace and prosperity into perpetuity. So you see, your life and crime are heroic, as the ends justify the means.”
Manuel couldn’t believe his ears. The president was misguided. The ROAS had no such technology. Years ago, advanced AI was a threat, but the world had recognized the concern and the technology was throttled. Still, he didn’t want to die. He was scared. Maybe the president would reconsider. “You know I’m innocent. There is no need to execute me and nothing to be gained from the act. Spare my life, and I shall remain silent and always grateful. Prove your benevolence.”
The president shook his head and pouted. “I wish you no ill will. But just last night I held a rally in Texas. More than a hundred thousand citizens attended—not an empty seat in the stadium. As one, they rose and chanted for your execution. The people need and want strength in their leader, to know right from wrong. Humanity is conservative by nature. It craves concrete answers, to know right from wrong, and seeks protection from outsiders. I, like my father, give them that. Still, I’m benevolent. More so than anyone else. To prove it, before I came in here, I commuted Ross’s death sentence to life in prison. As for you, the people have demanded your death, and this is America where democracy rules. When I walk out of this room, the executioner will depress a button releasing sodium thiopental into your system. You will go to sleep and feel no pain. That is the best I can do for you.”
Before Manuel could respond, Tower stood straight and waived through the one-way glass and mouthed the command, “He’s ready.” With that, the president strode from the death chamber.
Manuel watched the man leave and realized it was over. His death was imminent, and a wave of fear washed over him.
At first, Manuel didn’t feel the drug. For a bit, his racing heart overcame the powerful anesthetic, and he continued to quiver in fear. But it didn’t take long. Within twenty seconds, he relaxed, his nerves calmed, and after ten more, he was unconscious.
The automated system took over and released a paralyzing agent. Two minutes later, the system injected the final killing toxins.
Felix Manuel left this earth.
May 8, 12:55 (PDT)
Atop a rise off Highway 15 outside Mesquite, Nevada, looking east through his field glasses across the border at the US state of Arizona, Colonel Kevin Rourke thought, “This shit can’t last.”
In the early-afternoon desert sun, squatting in the heat, sat row after row of heavy Stonewall M1A7 main-battle tanks. Behind those were untold rows of infantry fighting vehicles. Beyond his sight, he knew there were dozens of self-propelled artillery pieces backed by squadrons of vertical-lift aircraft. Intelligence reports told him he was staring at two United States Armored Brigade Combat Teams comprising a total of eight thousand men.