Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga (77 page)

“But…the Rangers took blood samples−”

“
Yes, against my orders, they were allowed to send blood samples, not the Source.
 
And where is that plane?
 
Do you have it?
 
Because I hear this flu the Koreans gave you is starting to mutate…
”

“Well…no…we lost contact with the plane after it picked up the blood.”

“
So?
 
Was it shot down?
 
Or did the pilots defect to Harris?
” asked Reginald’s voice, tight with emotion.
 
“
Do you understand what you have allowed to happen?
 
If Harris gets his hands on that blood—
”

“He won’t.”

“
How do you know that?
 
You can barely stand up, let alone prevent a plane from flying to Denver
.”
 
Reginald laughed, a mocking, sinister sound.
 
“
And that situation would still be recoverable,
if
we had the Source.
 
Which of course, your precious Rangers lost
.”

“But—”

“
Mr. President
,” Reginald sighed.
 
“
You do understand the predicament you have so incompetently put me in, do you not?
 
My employers were adamant that the Source—if not him, his blood—be delivered to them as the price for your presidency.
 
You have done moderately-well for yourself up to this point.
 
But, you have now lost the only bargaining chips in your hand
.”

“The…what—?”
 
The President could see the room start to spin.
 

“
Precisely.
 
You are overwhelmed.
 
I don’t see how there is any other option going forward but to withdraw support for your administration.
 
You aren’t the only man that can be President, you know
−”

The President lost his grip on the cell phone when his head hit the side of the table.
 
He felt an odd, floating-falling sensation, but could only see Jayne in his mind’s clouded eye.
 
She was reaching out to him, covered in soapy suds and was begging him to join her in the tub.
 
He reached his arms out and felt nausea sweep over his body.
 
Then a part of his addled mind recognized that he was on the floor.
 

His heart rate slowed, he could feel himself drifting off into deep relaxation.
 
Is this the end? Am I dying?

The cell phone landed next to him.
 
A barely audible sound emanated from the phone—a voice, rising in concern or anger…he couldn’t decide.
 
He tried to say something but found his mouth wouldn’t listen to the commands his brain was sending.
 
His hand twitched, but didn’t move when he ordered it to touch his face.
 
In a panic, he tried to shout for help and heard only a muffled, faint mumble.

What the hell is going on!?
 
I…
his eyes closed slowly, then opened even slower.
 
His thoughts drifted by on a mere trickle of a stream of consciousness.
 
Jayne…Reginald…his wife…his shaking hands…the room spinning…panic that he couldn’t speak….Jayne…the riots…Jayne…

He closed his eyes and when they didn’t open, he began to cry and waited for death.
 
An image of his wife’s face flashed before him with a sad, mournful look.
 
As he slipped into nothingness, he realized that Jayne pitied him more than anything.

I
SEE
HIM
—
YES
, he’s alive.”

The President’s eyes fluttered open at her touch.
 
She came for me!
 
He struggled to focus his vision.
 
Jayne stood up and turned away from him, one hand on her hip.
 
She looked disappointed, to say the least.

Blurry as she was, she still looked wonderful.
 
Like an angel sent to rescue him from his own personal Hell.
 
He tried to reach out for her but his arm still wouldn’t move properly.
 
He felt the muscles twitch, then rebel and collapse.

“I understand.
 
But
you
must understand, he’s taking too much,” she said.
 
Jayne listened for a moment, her head cocked to the side.
 
“Yes, of
course
I know how much he’s getting.
 
You think I’m still a rook or something?”
 
The anger in her voice was a side of her he had never seen.
 
He was fascinated.
 

She shifted a little to the side and planted herself on the edge of his desk.
 
He could see her short skirt slide up.
 
Even in his incapacitated state, he could feel his heart rate start to go uphill.
 
Those thighs…

“He has gotten single doses, no more.
 
I’m telling you, he’s built up a tolerance for it—I’ve never seen someone handle so much before.”
 
She raised her delicate right hand and admired the gleaming ring on her middle finger.
 
The intricate Celtic knot-work had always attracted his eye.

“I’ve never seen it before either.
 
All the others broke long before this point.”
 
She shrugged, such a simple, gesture, yet she looked so graceful—it made him ache with longing.
 
She sighed.
 

“I really thought he could handle it.”
 
She glanced down at him and licked her lips, slowly.
 
“I really hoped he could.”

Handle what?
 
What’s she talking about?
   

The dreamy look vanished from her face.
 
Her eyes narrowed, focused on infinity.
 
“Yes, I’ve tested it myself.
 
It’s fine.
 
More than fine, it’s perfect.
 
You’re overreacting.“
 
He watched as she carefully removed the ring and held it up to the light, examining it.
 
She turned it this way and that, her smooth hands gently holding the gleaming jewelry.
 

I miss her hands…
 

“No, the problem is not on my end.
 
It’s him.
 
He’s an addict, like I told you before.
 
It was all there in his bloodwork.
 
But you didn’t listen to me, did you?”
 
She tossed her head, flipping her golden mane from one shoulder to the other so she could switch the phone to the other ear.
 
“Yes, sir, I’m looking at it right now and I’m telling you, the ring is fine.
 
The dosage is fine.
 
Your President is the problem.”

She shook her head, the flowing, golden hair swirling about her shoulders.
 
The President ached to run his hands through that silky goodness one more time.
 
I can’t even sit up, how would I run my hands through her hair?
 
This is worse than death…

“No, it’s worse than that.”
 
She laughed, a deep throaty sound that made the blood ring in his ears.
 
“He takes all I give and his body just wants more.”
 
She slid her free hand down the smooth length of her bared thigh.
 
In a soft, dreamlike voice, she said, “Don't get me wrong, it’s been…mmmm…fun…”

She straightened up suddenly and smoothed out her skirt.
 
“Yes, sir.
 
Of course.
 
I—well, you know…
 
Yes
.
 
I’m telling you, he’s in the downward spiral.”
 
She looked at the ceiling and sighed.
 
“No, don’t do that.
 
I have no traction with
her
at all.
 
She hates me, thanks to him.
 
That last display during the cabinet meeting pushed her over the edge.
 
Yes.
 
Yes
.
 
No, I’m telling you, if you do this, you’ll be on your own.
 
That’s right, she’ll remove me from the bunker faster than you can blink.
 
That dried-up cow has a stick up her ass, for sure.”

The President tried to chuckle, he knew she was talking about Vice President Hillsen.
 
She was the only person in the Bunker that he figured could get such a rise out of his normally sweet, submissive, suggestive, Jayne.
 

She recoiled her head, causing her hair to rustle about her shoulders.
 
It was as if she had been slapped.
 
“Don’t you
dare
.
 
That woman is ugly as sin.
 
If you’re going to make me do that at least let me pick someone I can play with.”
 
She looked at the phone and chuckled.
 
Fingers twirling her hair, she grinned and said, “God, Reginald, you are such a prude.
 
You need to loosen up.”

She laughed again, casting a glance over her shoulder at the form of the President of the United States, crumpled on the floor like a rag doll.
 
He was looking at her through eyes that were just barely open and she didn’t notice.
 
She watched him, with a wistful look on her face.
 

“I’ll give him one thing, he certainly knows how to show a girl a good time.”

He tried to smile, but his face was slack and unresponsive, like the rest of his body.
 
He tried to calm himself, to not think about being incapacitated like that—conscious but unable to move—for the rest of his life.
 
He poured all his remaining willpower into moving his tongue, his toes, his fingers, anything.
 
Nothing moved.
 
Just his heart and lungs, on auto-pilot.

Jayne.
 
And Reginald.
 
His mind plowed through the fog of her perfume at a slow pace.
 
They drugged me.
 
The damn ring.
 
His heart broke with the realization that Jayne had played him expertly to the very end.
 
I just can’t believe it…

Jayne continued to chat with Reginald, pacing the room and picking up random objects to examine while she talked.
 
She was bored, listening to instructions, giving reports, offering suggestions.

She used me.
 
Used me up completely and now he’s telling her to throw me away like a piece of trash.
 
Somewhere, deep down inside his tortured body, a tiny spark appeared in the darkness.
 
Anger began to grow inside him, competing with the frustration he felt at being denied access Jayne’s body.

He was angry for being used, angry for being propped-up as President before his time, angry that Reginald and his employers were tearing America apart piece-meal.
 
The spark grew into an ember and his helplessness blew the ember into a furnace of rage.
 

They think I’m all used up, an empty husk.
 
Useless.
 
He seethed with raw, white-hot anger.
 

His fingers twitched.

Yesssss
.
 
His eyes moved slowly to follow Jayne’s progress around the room, like he was pushing his vision through jelly.
 
But, at least his eyes were under his control again.
 
He let his rage burn away the effects of whatever toxin Jayne had been using on him, and he kept still.
 
Slowly, he could feel control over his extremities return.
 
First a finger, then two, then four, then a wrist.
 
Slowly, his feet twitched on command.

It’s working…
he told himself.
 
Just stay still…

Jayne returned to the desk and stood right in front of him.
 
If he dared to move his head, he could have looked straight up…
 

Stop that.
 
Get a hold of yourself.
 
She’s been playing you like a fiddle.
 
It’s time to show this bitch what you’re really made of.
 
You are the goddamn President of the United States of America.
 
Time to start acting like it.

He summoned all the remaining shreds of his battered willpower to fight off the lust that was building in his loins.
 
She was so close.
 
He could smell her shampoo, her perfume—that lovely, fragrant bouquet—the very
essence
of her.
 
A whimsical, naughty thought flitted through his mind:
I wonder if she’s wearing panties?
 

It was the same old, intoxicating wave of euphoria that threatened to drown him again.
 
He gritted his teeth and could feel the sweat bead on his forehead.
 
At least you’re feeling something…