Tehran Decree (24 page)

A massive fire ball surged through the area and
consumed everything within a fifty metre radius, it was abruptly
followed by a shock wave, which leveled the whole block and every
upright object in the vicinity

A perfectly flattened area appeared where the
warehouse had once resided, and an enormous particle cloud fogged
the sky for hundreds of metres in all directions.

For Jansen and his team it was a race against time,
and one, that logically, the team couldn’t possibly win as they
raced like hell for their lives. It was amazing how much space one
could be traversed when one’s life depended on it.

Jansen felt the heat flash on the back of his neck
and through the flak jacket he was wearing, as if someone had
applied a blow torch to his flesh. Momentarily he looked back to
see a huge black cloud heading towards him in slow motion. It
wasn’t the first time he’d experienced the slowing down of human
reactions during a life threatening incident. He wasn’t quite sure
if it was reality or the mind, or perhaps a combination of the two,
which gave rise to the slow motion phenomena.

Ironically at that precise moment he thought about
Albert Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, time contraction, and the
human subjectivity of such observations. It was strange how ones
perceptions changed when a massive dose of adrenaline was dumped
into the blood stream.

He pushed harder on his limbs trying to get the last
ounce of energy into his muscles, paradoxically the more effort he
put in, the stiffer his muscles became and the slower his forward
motion. The ground gave way beneath him, and a sense of
weightlessness took hold. Impulsively, he had the presence of mind
to clap his hands over his ears, as the deafening sound wave passed
over him. His body plunged head first into a large sand dune
blacking everything out. A prolonged silence ensued, and his senses
no longer seemed to be responding to outside forces. For a few
indelible moments Jansen could not make out whether he was alive or
dead, and he struggled to lift his head out of the sand. It was the
faint drone of large jet aircraft overhead that finally gave him
back his senses.

Pulling his head out of the sand and gazing into the
void he could just make out a tiny silver reflection of a high
altitude bomber, and its tell tale vapour trails, which marked its
position in the sky. This must have been the view Japanese
survivors of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki after the Americans dropped
the atom bomb on their cities. Humans were an inquisitive species
and always compared their circumstances to incidents in the
past.

As he turned his head earthward he thought he saw
movement. A flash in the sand dunes just east of the dirt road,
possibly a reflection off a vehicle windscreen as it moved out of
sight...or even an hallucination after the gross assault on his
senses.

Chapter Forty-six

Jenkins looked at the Washington monument from his
desk window, he had often admired its symbolic overtones, it was
one of the many artifacts around the capital that was
quintessentially American, and that was the way he liked it.
Anything that sybolised America’s greatness was good -- good for
moral, good for the country, good for its enemies and ultimately
good for the world from an American point of view.

Without America what would the world be? The thought
stuck in his throat -- it was unthinkable! His laptop was open on
his desk with a hot cup of his favourite coffee next to it. He
scrolled down the screen to his software planner and browsed the
entries.

They were a list of accomplishments along with dates
of achievement; it was literally a CV of his goals for the past ten
years. A superlative diary to be gloated over, this is what made
life so worth while. It was all about accomplishments -- scraps of
extraordinary happenings which he happily fed to his ego, it
breathed new life into his existence as the ultimate force in world
politics.

A smug smile was in order as he added his latest
demand to his prestigious wish list. He typed it in bold
letters...

Sunday CEREMONY

1/ Inauguration as President of the United
States.

It went well with the rest of the list and was in
fact the culmination of all his efforts over the years. There
seemed to be little point in being the US president by default
only, after all, a de facto president was just an ad hoc fill-in
position. It just had to be the real thing signed and approved by
the law makers and public alike.

Pouring himself a large bourbon, he eased a modicum
of soda water down the side of the glass, swirled it around, and
drank it in one large gulp. He lifted the house phone and dialed
his personal secretary.

‘Hello Harry, president Jenkins speaking,’ he intoned
with conviction, ‘how are the preparations coming along for the
official inauguration?’

‘The chief justice has been informed and we’ll be
conducting the ceremony at the Capital’s West Front in line with
previous inaugurations sir.’

‘Good...I was just thinking about that Harry...due to
the current situation, might it be wiser to conduct it inside the
Capital building.’

‘Yes Mr. President, that is possible, I follow your
reasoning, that will make the security arrangements a little
easier, but we may have difficulty fitting everyone into the
building.’

‘It should be simple enough Harry, just cull the list
until we can get them all in...after all it is the inauguration of
the president that’s important, not the number of resident guests,
and in any case, the whole rigmarole is only a formality.’

‘True, but what a wondrous formality sir, its not
everyday one becomes the president of the United States. I know the
ceremony can be a little unnerving, but look at it as symbol of
recognition by your peers sir. A procedure which indemnifies you as
the most prestigious and influential man in the world,’ Jenkins
smiled serenely -- hearing this accolade directly from one of his
peers was sheer joy.

‘You do have a point there Harry, thank you that
positive spin...I await my fate.’

‘Right sir...I’ll give you a call when we’re ready
for you.’

‘Excellent,’ Jenkin’s poured himself another bourbon
and sat back in his large upholstered chair. His eyes scanned the
well appointed office area, these were the wings, the place where
future presidents waited for their que to become the US president
-- the so called most powerful man in the world.

He was aware that many people in the cabinet and
associated areas were resentful of his sudden rise to the most
coveted political position in America. Although this was the grand
achievement in his life he felt uneasy. There was still something
nagging away at the back of his brain, which he couldn’t nail down.
Being a full blown hands on politician, this was hard for him to
understand. Men in high positions were supposed to know everything
and be able to handle almost anything, be super human in fact, in
the eyes of the public. His mind wondered on to government as a
working entity in its own right.

Governments were delicate, unpredictable, and tended
to be unstable by virtue of the fact that they depended on the
human element which controlled them. Politics was the name of the
rat racy manipulation that went on relentlessly for the control of
society, and was the thing that drove government. And in politics,
all was fair in love, and war. By its very nature politics tended
to skirt the law, and in some countries it was the absolute law.
But so far, he had out foxed his contemporaries fair and square,
and that was all the politics he needed.

The inauguration would finally remove all doubts
about his authority and all the non conformists would have to be
removed from cabinet and any other associated public offices. The
president was the commander in chief, full stop, and that was true
in all important areas as far as he were concerned.

Chapter Forty-seven

He was on his third glass of bourbon and feeling
pleasantly relaxed, when his mobile buzzed. In spite of his modest
inebriation, it jolted his composure, and he snatched the mobile
from his desk.

‘Hello...Jenkins...’

‘You’re on sir...show time in five minutes...’
Jenkins folded up his mobile, took several deep breaths, and
finished his forth bourbon. He had developed a taste and tolerance
for fine spirit which fell just short of alcoholism. He knew when
the stage had been reached, his body told him so in many subtle
ways, and he had practiced the exact cut off point over the years.
If there was such a thing as a controlled alcoholic -- then it was
he, Steven Jenkin’s, who was the ultimate living example. He licked
his spirit salved lips and made his way to the capital building. He
could hear the hum and banter of the mass of people as he entered
the back transepts of the large building.

A sudden thought crept up on him as he climbed the
steps towards the rostrum and the supporting luminaries.

He was single...a single president was almost unheard
of...you had to be married to be president. It dented his mind set
from positive to negative. Thirty seconds remained for the preamble
and oath taking to take place. He had to find an alternate positive
thought...then he remembered the 15th US president, James Buchanon,
he was a president who was never married, and quite possibly, there
might have been a few others? He scalded himself for not knowing
the US presidential lineage and associated details. It was the one
thing people might expect him to know, but such trivia was never
one of his good points.

Staring at the faces in the crowded room, he forced a
smile, and a modest cheer erupted from a group of well wishers
gathered at the front of the assembly. He stood next to the rostrum
and the chief justice caught his eye with a solemn gaze. A short
pause and the chief justice began to speak authoritatively into the
microphone.

‘Repeat after me...I do solemnly swear that I will
faithfully..., he knew the oath of affirmation back to front and
felt like reeling it off in double time, ‘execute the Office of the
President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability,
preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United
States.’

He had just reached the word ‘ability’ when several
loud gun shots near the side entry doors interrupted the
proceedings.

Jenkins squinted aggressively at a group of men and
women who had just entered the room. The leading man was waving a
revolver in the air and shouting.

‘Stop the inauguration
--
it’s illegal,’
Jenkin’s stared incredulously at the shouting man. ABC, CBS and CNN
news channel cameras at the front of the proceedings jostled each
other for a close up of Jenkins, catching his scowling mannerism
and the smallest beads of sweat on his brow.

Then they switched to the man leading the
insurrectionists, his face seemed more than familiar. He was waving
a small pistol -- it was Garner, president Garner...he stood a mere
two metres from the rostrum with the revolver aimed at the man
about to be inaugurated -- Jenkin’s reacted immediately pointing
his finger at him..

‘Arrest that man before he shoots someone,’ two
policeman moved in from the side lines and stood in total
bewilderment as they recognised their former president. Garner
pushed himself forward still brandishing the revolver.

‘I‘m afraid you are the one who is under arrest,’
Garner snapped contemptuously at Jenkins.

Jenkins peered more closely at the entourage
surrounding Garner. Ellen Monard the National Security Advisor
stood at Garner’s side with the FBI Director and the Attorney
General standing behind them. Jenkins was beside himself trying to
find the right words to fit the unprecedented occasion which
confronted him.

‘But this is impossible, the MOAB strike, and the
plutonium implant...they would have...’ Jenkins stopped abruptly,
suddenly realising he might be incriminating himself. Garner
lowered the revolver.

‘I’ll finish that sentence for you...they would have
killed me...but they didn’t. In spite of your deceptions and your
dirty politics your plan has failed,’ Jenkins rapidly back peddled
and tried to resume his composure.

‘I have carried out my duties to the best of my
ability, if there is any fault here it is yours sir,’ he continued
his finger pointing.

‘How do we know you are not some impostor
masquerading as the former president?’ Garner squirmed a little and
vented a sarcastic smile.

‘There is one thing you were not aware of Steven, I
had a double. A specially trained secret service agent who
resembled me in features and build,’ he turned and placed his hand
on Ellen Monard’s shoulder.

‘I owe this kind lady my life. It was Ellen who first
noticed this similarity and suggested I use him as a double in
risky situations...the man was highly agreeable. And why not...it
fulfilled his oath of allegiance to a tee. To serve and protect the
president of the United States...this job he fulfilled one hundred
percent, which is a lot more than I can say for you, vice president
Jenkins.’

‘If that is true sir, where is this security
agent?’

‘You know the answer to that...the man is vapourised
into millions of particles; the result of your foolhardy MAOB
debacle in Muscat.’

‘It was necessary, we did our utmost to protect the
interests of the United States, and the American people.’

‘You certainly did that, but you forgot to protect
your president. I have the security services to thank for my life.
However, there was a stage in this horrible business when I thought
my time was at an end,’ Jenkin’s stance noticeably softened.

‘When was that sir?’

‘We were in the tunnel trapped in the presidential
limousine with rounds flying in all directions and secret service
personnel dying in their droves. There were only minutes to spare
before the terrorists turned on the limousine. Thankfully, the
vehicle was bullet proofed, but the real horror was the rocket
propelled grenades they were carrying --. one direct hit and we
would all be finished.