He turned as the door opened and a muscular black man dressed in a dark suit entered the suite, the ear piece identifying him as Secret Service.
“Name?”
“Excuse me?”
“Who are you?”
“Adam Shariak, Under Secretary of Defense.”
“Shariak, huh?” The big man checked his iPhone. “Name’s familiar, but you’re not on my list which means ya’ll don’t belong here.”
Adam reached for his ticket as the secret service man reached for his gun.
“Whoa, big fella, I’m just showing you my ticket. See… Suite 18.”
“This is Suite 8.”
President Bill Clinton walked in, placing a reassuring hand on the big man’s shoulder. “Easy, Samson. They’re changing out the door plates. Pops probably got confused.”
“Mr. President… I’m so sorry.”
“Nonsense. Nothing to be sorry about. Samson, this is Adam Shariak, our new Under Secretary of Defense. I caught your confirmation hearing on C-SPAN. Best explanation of ISIS I’ve heard. You were direct but succinct; forcing that senator to accept the fact that every military action creates a ripple effect throughout the Middle East… that dropping bombs and deploying more American troops is exactly what these radicals want us to do.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Too bad Trump wasn’t watching.”
“I’m actually supposed to—”
“Say, Shariak, you any good with that pool cue?”
“Not very.”
“Good, rack ’em up. Samson, maybe you can close that drape before you leave so I can see. The sun’s blinding me.”
“Yes, sir.” The secret service man pulled the curtains closed and left.
“Sorry about Samson. He gets overprotective.”
“Do you know if he played nose tackle at Ohio State?”
“I believe he did.”
“I think he recognized me. Way back when, I played fullback at Indiana. OSU always beat the tar out of us, but in my senior year, I had a pretty good second half against the big fella.”
Bill Clinton’s face lit up. “I’ll be damned. I remember that game. You ran for about a hundred and thirty yards in the second half and almost led your team to a huge upset.”
“You have an excellent memory, sir.”
“For some things.” Clinton gestured to Adam to have a seat at one of the card tables. “Mind if I ask you a personal question? Your head coach at Indiana hadn’t played you all season. What made him change his mind at halftime?”
“Our starting tailback was hurt. We were losing twenty-seven to nothing in our only nationally-televised game of the year and coach was pissed. So he asked a bunch of seniors for their advice. When he came to me I said, ‘just give me the damn ball coach, and we’ll score.”
“Give me the damn ball and we’ll score… I love it. And you did score — three touchdowns if memory serves.”
“Two. I tore up my knee before we scored on that last drive.”
As Adam watched, President Clinton removed a small stack of three-by-five cards from the back pocket of his slacks. Making eye contact with Shariak, he pressed an index finger to his lips for silence, causing Adam’s pulse rate to jump.
“I love football,” Clinton said, “it really is America’s game.”
Reaching into the pocket of his windbreaker, he removed a small keychain with a flashlight. Turning it on, he aimed the purple light at the first card in his hand, causing a message to appear in yellow ultraviolet ink:
READ CARDS SILENTLY — DO NOT REACT. CONTINUE MAKING SMALL TALK.
Seeing the urgency in the former president’s eyes, Adam nodded.
“My game was rugby; I played on the rugby club when I attended Oxford. Ever play rugby, Shariak?”
He flipped to the next card:
YOU’VE BEEN WONDERING WHY YOU WERE SELECTED TO BE UNDER SECRETARY…
“Yes!”
“Really? Where’d you play?”
“Play what? Football?”
Clinton shot him a “stay focused” look. “Rugby.”
“Rugby? Sorry… no. Just football.”
The former president turned over the next card:
WE RECRUITED YOU TO COMPLETE A MISSION VITAL TO HUMANITY’S FUTURE.
You recruited me? How the hell did you recruit me? And who’s we?
“I loved rugby. Of course, they don’t wear helmets like they do in American football.”
AS UNDER SECRETARY, YOU’LL HAVE ACCESS TO ILLEGALLY-FUNDED SPECIAL ACCESS PROGRAMS.
“What is… I mean… no helmets… that’s crazy.”
“It is crazy.”
FREE CLEAN ZERO-POINT-ENERGY TECHNOLOGIES EXIST.
Adam felt light-headed, the scene surreal. Free energy? What the hell is he talking about? Why is he doing this? Is the suite bugged?
“So Shariak… how are you getting along with President Trump?”
“We’ve never met. Tonight… it’s our first meeting.”
Clinton turned to the next card, responding, “I read where the Doomsday Clock has advanced thirty seconds since he’s been in office.”
IT IS CONTROLLED BY A ROGUE SECRET CABAL IN PRIVATE/ MILITARY INDUSTRIAL SECTOR… VERY DANGEROUS!
“I read that… the Doomsday Clock. It’s symbolic, of course.”
“And yet it’s representative of our times… the threat of nuclear war… the effects of climate change. Trump has no regard for the environment… to him it’s simply a speed bump for the economy.
PATENTS HAVE BEEN DENIED, TECHNOLOGY CONFISCATED AND BLACK-SHELVED. SCIENTISTS HAVE BEEN KILLED… ALL TO SAFEGUARD FOSSIL FUEL PROFITS.
“So… what am I supposed to do… as Under Secretary?”
WE NEED YOU TO BRING ZERO-POINT-ENERGY TO THE WORLD.
Adam felt the blood drain from his face.
Bill Clinton removed a cigar from his windbreaker and lit up. “Do you have any children, Mr. Under Secretary?”
“Children? No, sir.”
“I’m a father and a grandfather. I fear for them; I fear for their generation. We’re doing the same things we’ve done over the last century — burning fossil fuels to create energy. We’re killing ourselves and the planet, and this new administration is taking off the brakes. I’ve traveled a dozen times around the world since I left the Oval Office and the things I’ve seen would break your heart. Africa’s dying. India’s a cesspool; its population is drowning in sewage. Pakistan’s ripe for a coup, and the EU can’t hold back the tide of immigrants escaping from the Middle East. Did you know the hottest-selling products in China these days are respirators? In Bulgaria, it’s radioactive nuclear material. It’s only a matter of time before ISIS or al-Qaeda or another one of these radicalized Islamic groups gets hold of enough plutonium to set off a dirty bomb… or your new president decides the best way to deal with Kim Jung Un is to strike first.”
Clinton turned to the last message.
FIND DR. NEALE MANLEY…
“You wanted the ball, Mr. Under Secretary… run with it.”
TRUST NO ONE.
As Adam watched, the forty-second President of the United States pressed the lit end of his cigar to the stack of three by five cards, the ash immediately igniting the chemically treated paper, instantaneously burning everything into a solitary cinder.
A moment later two Secret Service agents escorted Pops into the suite.
“Hell son, we got to get you out of here, you’re in the wrong place.”