Sudden Threat (43 page)

“No, I’ve seen a copy. Let’s go to the study.”

Stone stood, hovering over Meredith as she stared at the television.

CHAPTER 77

For the first time in the evening, Meredith was uncomfortable. She saw a glint in Stone’s eyes that sparkled of a hidden agenda. She looked nervously at her attire and suddenly felt guilty for being beautiful.

“C’mon. Let’s head to the study, there’s a TV in there,” he said. She was still wondering how she could have been so stupid. Had she led him on? No, maybe his motives were pure. She had done much for him, and indeed the country, in a behind-the-scenes sort of way over the past week. Perhaps this was Stone’s way of saying thank you, by letting some of the help enjoy a small part of his life. She wanted to believe that.

“I haven’t read the speech though. I’d like to see it, sir.”

“Hell, you wrote part of it,” he said. “I gave your report to Palmer. He said there was no use reinventing the wheel and that he’d embellish your comments and give them to the president.”

“Well, now I really want to see it,” she said, forcing a smile. Yes, she could do this. Delay until he got tired. He was an old man and would probably go limp soon.

She turned up the volume of the television as the camera panned the face of the president. He looked worried and tired.

Stone turned on the stereo, put a CD in the disc changer, and soon the Rolling Stones’ “Wild Horses” was belting out of the speakers, nearly overriding the television. Stone played a bit of air guitar, grabbed a mock microphone, and said, “Mick Jagger!”

Then he moved behind the sofa and rested his hands on the leather to either side of Meredith’s shoulders. She could feel his hot breath blowing into her hair. “I’m a rock star,” he whispered in her ear.

Gross.

“Good evening, my fellow Americans,” the president said. “Tonight I speak to you, the nation, and to the entire world concerning the rapidly unfolding events in the Philippines.

“As you all know, earlier today Japan announced her intentions to intervene militarily in the affairs of the Republic of the Philippines. Specifically, they stated that they wished to restore democracy to the freedom-loving people of the Philippines. Such a move is consistent with our desire to maintain dem-ocratic governments around the world, yet it competes with the emerging international consensus of guaranteeing the right to self-determination of individual countries.” Meredith smiled. It was her line. Stone had not lied; at least not about using her words for the president’s speech. More heavy breathing, though, like an obscene phone call.

“However, we will begin dialogue with the Japanese government to discuss alternatives to the physical military occupation of the Philippines. We believe there are other methods of securing Japan’s lines of communication through the South China and Celebes Seas. I ask the international community to be patient with us and with Japan. We will find a solution through statecraft.” Meredith wondered why the president would show the glimpse of a smile when he said “through statecraft.”

“My message to the American people is, don’t be alarmed. The situation is well under control. My message to the people of the Philippines is that we will work to ensure your country is not beholden to the dark vision of Islamic extremism. My message to the world is that we have the lead in this action. Our Japanese allies will work independently, yet we will closely monitor their military action. All freedom-seeking people wish to stem the flow of Islamic fundamentalism and the sinister future it harbors.

“Thank you and God bless America and all freedom-loving people.”

Short and way off the point,
Meredith surmised.

It said so little, but meant so much. The world would interpret it as meaning Japan’s actions were intended to fight Islamic extremism, saving a bit of face for the president and perhaps calming the fears of China, Russia, and Korea. Those nations, at least in the near term, would be reluctant to take any kind of action against Japan. It was crucial to portray Japan as an ally, she had told Stone, thereby negating a knee-jerk response from any one country, lest they have to contend with the American nuclear and conventional arsenal.

“I told you, dearie,” Stone said. Meredith looked down and instinctively pulled her skirt toward her knees.

Stone had dimmed the lights during the short speech. It was clear he had not listened. She looked at the second bottle of champagne. He had nearly sucked it dry, and she cringed at the thought of his operating on a bottle and a half of alcohol. She had eluded several college men in similar circumstances, but never did she imagine she would have to pull the plug on the sexual batteries of the secretary of defense.

“The study, darling, or would you prefer to use—stay on the couch?” Stone said.

She sensed he was on testosterone override. The alcohol had flipped a switch in his brain, sending an electrical current to his penis, thereby relinquishing all control to the lower appendage for the time being.

She looked at her watch and said, lamely, “Sir, I must really be going. You know what they say about wearing out—”

“The sofa?” Stone said, moving around to her front, intercepting her before she could escape. He grabbed her arm and sat next to her. He stared wildly at her breasts, which she instinctively covered.

“Sir!” Meredith said, weakly.

A weak protest. It always means they want it.

“Don’t you want to make love to one of the most powerful men in the world, Meredith?” Stone asked, sounding a bit like Jack Nicholson might. His fingers pressed into the flesh of her slender arm. His breath was sour with the musty odor of the cham-pagne fermenting in his belly.

“Sir, really. This is inappropriate,” she said, pushing him away and snatching her arm back. She looked at the bruises.

Then leave. Why are you just sitting there? Because you want it. That’s why.
“You want me, don’t you. You’ve wanted me since you showed up in my office. Now let’s get down to business, Meredith. Let’s cut to the chase. I’m Mick Jagger,” Stone said, hungrily. He pulled at her dress and a naked breast popped out of the fabric.

Yes, that’s more like it. I knew you wanted me.

He grabbed her arms and lay on top of her, hiking her dress all the way up to her waist. He looked down at her panty hose and pulled at them with his fingers, wanting to secure his prize. He deserved it, he figured. It had been a hard week at the office.

Meredith, you stupid bitch, why are just taking this? Do something! He’s raping you!
she thought.

Meredith used her strength to push Stone’s heavy body off her and onto the floor. She stood, stepping over him.

“Oh, want to get on top, huh. I should have guessed,” Stone said.

She pulled her panty hose up, grabbed her purse, and tried to run. Stone grabbed at her legs, causing her to fall and strike her forehead on the oak coffee table, leaving a huge gash, which gushed blood onto her face.

“You son of a bitch!” Meredith screamed, run-ning from the study. She bumped into Andre, who had awakened to the commotion, splattering blood onto his white T-shirt.

“He tried to rape me!” she said, running from the house and getting into her car. She sat in the car and cried for a moment.

When she looked up, Stone’s face was at the driver’s side window.

She locked the doors and cranked the engine. Typically, as in the movies, the car did not start, and the engine kept turning over.

Finally, she floored the gas pedal, flooding the engine. It cranked, pouring white smoke from the exhaust, and she sped away, purposely veering the car into Stone, knocking him on his rear.

He did not care.

She’s just playing hard to get. Mick Jagger never gets rejected.

Stone picked himself up, ascended the steps on his porch, and saw a small metal object in the dim light. Wobbling, he bent over and picked up the small device.

“What’s this?” he asked himself, his words slurring a bit as he pocketed an object about the size of his thumb.

“Brian Jones,” the
newest member of the Rolling Stones, had received a call from Ronnie Wood, who was truthfully not too far away. It seemed he needed some assistance. A jam session, so to speak.

“Mick’s going a little crazy, and we will need to clean up after him,” Ronnie Wood had said.

“Just tell me where. I always have my axe to grind,” Brian Jones said.

And so Brian sat in his Buick Electra 225. “Gets about two gallons to the mile,” he always remarked to those who ogled the beast. And it was perfect when he wanted to play bumper cars.

He followed her off of Old Dominion onto Swinks Mill, then onto Lewinsville, where she curled onto the I-495 in preparation, he presumed, for entry onto the George Washington Parkway.

Brian Jones looked at his watch: almost 11:00 p.m. He saw the occasional car, but nothing that bothered him. He tailed the slow-moving Prelude at about a quarter mile distance. By the way she was driving, he wasn’t concerned about being noticed. She sped up to ninety miles an hour on I-495 and almost missed the entrance to the parkway, but caught it at the last minute, her wheels nearly leaving the pavement.

Mick must have put a good licking on her
, he thought.

It was his time to inch closer. They were barreling down the parkway past Turkey Run Park and approaching the exit for Dolley Madison Boulevard. A sharp turn was approaching, which was followed by a bridge.

He was now less than five car lengths behind her and he flashed his bright lights at her, which caused her to speed up, as he had anticipated. Jones believed that Meredith would be fearful that Stone was following her, so he pulled up directly behind her as they were approaching 100 mph on the narrow road.

She accelerated into the turn and the Prelude left the road.

Jones slowed a bit and watched as the car failed to negotiate the turn and flipped onto its side. The low roof crumpled and sparks were flying every-where, then the vehicle skidded off the road, falling thirty feet below into a ditch just before the bridge.

Close enough
, Brian Jones thought, so he kept driving.

The Electra didn’t have a scratch.

CHAPTER 78

Island of Luzon, Philippines

The attack had been successful. Takishi sat atop the turret of a brand-new, Japanese Type 90 tank with its 120mm smoothbore gun. 

It seemed they could not miss. They had secured the Presidential Palace early in the operation. He had flown in the Mistubishi AH-X attack helicopter, still in its experimental phase. It had performed beautifully. Hellfire missiles reduced the thin-skinned rebel vehicles to burning hulks in seconds. The captured Scorpion tanks and old American M-113 Armored Personnel Carriers were no match for the new and improved version of the Japanese Imperial Army.

Once in the compound, they had completely destroyed the radio television stations. A holdover from the Marcos era was the fact that the government controlled the only two means of real-time communication to the people. Takishi had them destroyed immediately, preventing incoming or outgoing television or radio reports. Talbosa was most shocked of all to see Takishi enter the presidential grounds with nearly two hundred Japanese infantrymen trotting beside him carrying American M16 rifles. Takishi was wielding his New Nambu revolver, waving it and smiling at Talbosa.

“Let’s go, my friend. It is time to move on to another life,” Takishi said, pointing the revolver in Talbosa’s face.

“What are you doing, you fool?” Talbosa screamed.

“You are the fool, letting us build weapons in your own backyard. You idiot,” Takishi laughed.

Talbosa’s eyes sank to the ground, as did his hopes for a new Philippines, independent of imperialism. But once again, it appeared that the Japanese would write another chapter in the historical journal of Philippine conquest. First the Spanish, then the Americans, then the Japanese, then the Americans, and now the Japanese again.

“I guess everything does come full cycle,” Talbosa said softly, looking at Takishi.

Takishi smiled and nodded, watching as his forces rolled through the streets of Manila amidst an angry mob of people.

Lifting his pearl handled revolver to Talbosa’s head, Takishi pulled the trigger from point blank. Talbosa’s lifeless body slumped at the front gate of the Presidential Palace. As if to celebrate, the Japanese soldiers shot into the crowd, killing some, quickly dispersing the group that had assembled to protest. The Japanese army had gathered almost two thousand members of Talbosa’s Abu Sayyaf and were marching them north past the airport, into the countryside in the direction of Cabanatuan.

The tank treads creaked forward slowly, as if to nudge the stragglers in the group of rebels. Some women and children had accompanied their husbands and fathers for the march north to wherever. They were the fortunate ones, though, as thousands lay dead behind them.

The insurgents had put up a valiant fight but were no match for the sophisticated weaponry of the Japanese. The Japanese fought from the technological comfort of their machines, mowing down the rebels, who would foolishly stand and fire small-arms weapons at them. The insurgents had used most of their antitank and antiaircraft weapons during the initial assault and subsequent mopping-up operations. In fact, they had gotten downright careless with the ammunition, thinking and hoping they would no longer need it.

They had been wrong.

Takishi’s plan was to drive the Abu Sayyaf north to Fort Magsaysay where they would lock them in prison facilities, or shoot them, whichever Prime Minister Mizuzawa had decided.