Politics of Blood (Gray Spear Society Book 8)

Politics of Blood
Alex Siegel

Politics of Blood
All Rights Reserved. Copyright 2013
Alex Siegel

ISBN: 978-1-300-89202-1

Revision 11/26/2013

For information about this book and others in the same series, please visit:

http://www.grayspearsociety.com/

The Gray Spear Society series is a long-running saga. It is recommended that the books be read in a specific order. The current list is:

1. Apocalypse Cult
2. Carnival of Mayhem
3. Psychological Damage
4. Involuntary Control
5. Deadly Weakness
6. The Price of Disrespect
7. Tricks and Traps
8. Politics of Blood
9. Grim Reflections
10. Eyes of the World
11. Antisocial Media

Chapter One

Roy Haley, President of the United States, was sitting at the Resolute Desk in the Oval Office. He was reading a congressional report on the fiscal consequences of the latest budget bill. It was dreary stuff. The many charts and tables formed an ocean of statistical data that would've drowned most men. Haley was determined to swim through it. He knew being a good president was mostly a matter of being an informed president, and this budget was crucially important. Sometimes the work wasn't glamorous, but it was necessary.

The phone on his desk chirped. Haley pressed the answer button.

"Mr. President," his personal secretary said, "Doug Irvine is waiting to see you."

Haley smiled slightly. "Send him right in. I could use a change of pace."

A moment later, Doug entered the Oval Office. He wore an expensive, blue suit, but as usual, it was wrinkled and had a few odd stains. Tufts of gray hair decorated his big, round head. Weathered skin and sagging jowls made him look old, but he was ten years younger than Haley.

Haley walked swiftly across the office and shook the hand of his chief campaign manager. "Hey, Doug. Did we have a scheduled meeting?"

"I kind of bulled my way in here," Irvine said. "I wanted to make sure we talked one last time before you headed out for Chicago. It will be crazy when we get there. You're scheduled morning, noon, and night for the whole convention."

"I know. I'll be exhausted. It's good these things are only once every four years."

Haley sat on one of the plush couches in the center of the office. Irving slouched a little as he sat on the other couch. He was a brilliant campaign manager, but he wasn't nearly as sharp when it came to personal appearance and posture. He was strictly a "behind the scenes" kind of man.

"Let's get the hard part out of the way first," Irving said. "We have to talk about Cynthia."

Hearing the name made Haley stiffen. His wife had died a year ago of lung cancer. It had been a very ugly death for a very beautiful woman, and he still felt twinges when he remembered those days.

"What is there to talk about?"

"The reporters are going to ask about your feelings," Irving said. "The whole country mourned. It's still a hot-button topic."

"The passing of my beloved wife is
not
a hot-button topic."

"Sorry, sir." Irvine winced. "That was a poor choice of words. Still, the questions will be put to you. Now might be a good time to think about your answers."

Haley took a deep breath. "I'll just say the grieving process is a long and difficult one, and it's never quite finished. Next topic, please."

Irving frowned.

"Next topic!"

"Yes, sir." Irving took a little, yellow notepad out of his pocket. "I've been working on some new slogans that we might want to try out at the convention. The current batch is getting a little stale. You've been beating the jobs and education drums for a very long time."

"I'm passionate about those things," Haley said.

"There's nothing wrong with passion. It's what got you this job. We just need to freshen up the words a little. The message needs that new car smell. Just listen. 'Haley, the defender of the American family.' Or 'Haley knows what it takes to put food on the table.'"

"Not bad. Pick your top five slogans, and I'll look at them during the flight to Chicago. You'll be on the plane, right?"

Irving nodded. "Yes, sir. When one gets an invitation to fly on Air Force One, one accepts. Have you seen the latest polls?"

"The numbers look great to me," Haley said, "and we certainly have a nice, big war chest of money left to spend. I know it's still early to make grandiose statements, but it seems this election is ours for the taking."

"True, but a lot can change between now and November, so let's not get lazy."

"We both have a ton of work to do before we leave Washington. Let's finish this meeting on the plane. OK?" Haley stood up.

Irving nodded. "Yes, sir. Sorry to interrupt you."

"No problem."

Irving got up, bowed slightly, and left. As always, Haley wondered how such a socially awkward man could have such a deft touch when it came to driving public opinion. Hiring Irving had been the best political decision Haley had ever made.

He had just returned to his desk when his phone chirped again.

He pressed the button. "What now?"

"You have a visitor, Mr. President," his secretary said. "General Arnold Joseph."

"Another unscheduled meeting?"

"Sorry, sir. Everybody is desperate to see you before you leave for Chicago. I couldn't say no to a three-star general."

Haley sighed and sagged. "Just send him in."

General Joseph entered. His Air Force uniform was so clean and pressed it looked like it was made of plastic. A dense block of ribbons was the only colorful thing on him. Big glasses were significantly wider than his narrow face. His ears were as large as the lenses. He walked as if he actually did have a big stick up his ass.

Joseph shook Haley's hand firmly. "I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but it's an urgent matter."

"What's wrong?" Haley said without sitting down. He wanted to keep this meeting short.

"My office has been studying the latest budget proposal."

"I wasn't aware the Air Force was an adjunct to the Congressional Budget Office."

"We plan our purchases years in advance," Joseph said. "We have to know how much money will be available. This budget includes severe cuts in military spending."

"I proposed those cuts."

Joseph stood at strict attention. "That's why I came here, sir. The cuts are too deep."

"According to whom?" Haley said.

"This budget will emasculate our great country. We won't have the resources to properly equip our troops. We'll be unable to protect our borders."

Haley snorted. "Don't be so dramatic. Our borders are safe enough. We're not at war with anybody. What this country needs is more jobs, not more guns. We have to get out of this recession. Social spending is the top priority of my administration. That's why the people elected me."

"I'm pleading on behalf of the fine men and women in all our armed forces, sir." Joseph said. "Don't turn your back on them. Don't allow the world's greatest force for freedom to wither away."

"Get out." Haley pointed at the door. "I have neither the time nor the obligation to explain my position to you. You'll just have to be a good soldier and make do with the money you get."

"Yes, sir!" Joseph saluted in an exaggerated and insulting manner. He spun on his heel and left.

Haley went back to his desk and pressed the button on his phone. "No more interruptions for an hour," he said. "I have real work to do. If another general wants to whine about money, tell him to submit his complaint on a form in triplicate."

"Yes, sir," his secretary said timidly.

* * *

Aaron walked into his private office which wasn't so private these days. He was sharing it with Perry and his huge computer workstation.

It wasn't an ideal situation, but the computer room was too full of computers to accommodate another human. Every other room in headquarters was too noisy, too busy, or too crowded. Aaron's office was actually the best space available. He spent at most an hour a day in there and rarely needed privacy.

Perry was a tall man with pasty white skin. He was thin to the point of being scrawny, and the only real meat on him was a small bulge around the midsection. He wore glasses with thick black rims. Hazel eyes peered through the lenses.

His workstation was the same type that Bethany and Leanna used. A reclining chair made of soft webbing held Perry's body in a relaxed position. He could comfortably spend many hours there. Curved bars supported a grid of twelve computer monitors. Multiple keyboards and mice were connected to four computers standing on the floor.

Out of curiosity, Aaron looked at the screens. He could only tell Perry was working on some kind of software.

"What are you doing?" Aaron said.

Perry looked up at him. "The twins are teaching me a new pattern recognition algorithm. I'm implementing it so I can understand it better, but it's hard. Some of the math still doesn't make sense to me. I never knew about complex projective spaces before."

"Oh." Aaron smiled encouragingly. "How is it going between you and them? You don't seem as intimidated these days. I actually caught you smiling in their presence a few times."

"They still scare the hell out of me, sir. I thought I was smart, but I'm a pet monkey compared to them. I guess I'm getting more comfortable though. When you get past the freaky crystal eyes, metal skulls, and quantum entanglement brains, they're nice girls underneath."

"And you're learning, right?"

"Trying hard." Perry nodded eagerly. "But I'm just not capable of operating at their level."

"Nobody on Earth is, so don't feel bad."

"I'm not complaining. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. A million lifetimes. It's like I'm visiting the far future. I hope it never ends."

Aaron smiled, but he knew that hope would be dashed. One way or another, the twins' project would end soon, and then everything would change.

He went to his desk. It was made of thick slabs of gray metal welded together. The special alloy would never corrode.

Scattered paperwork littered the surface. Some of it was personal correspondence with other commanders in the Society. Special couriers delivered the handwritten notes between cells. Usually, the contents were just reports of enemy activity or requests for professional advice. Some of the notes were more emotionally charged though. Commanders faced pressures that only another commander could understand.

The rest of the paperwork was associated with the Rosemont Tower Hotel. Aaron was technically the owner, but he tried to participate as little as possible in the management. Some matters required his attention though. He had to keep an eye on the finances to make sure they appeared perfectly legitimate. Whenever a new employee was hired, Aaron liked to do a background check. It was important to know who was working in his building.

He sat at his desk. The Society correspondence was more interesting, so he decided to tackle that first.

His phone rang. He checked the caller ID and saw the numeric code for the
legatus legionis
. When Ethel called, it was almost never good news.

Aaron put the phone to his ear. "Hello, ma'am. How can I help you?"

"I'm at the airport," Ethel said. "Send somebody over to pick me up."

"Which airport?"

"O'Hare, of course. You didn't know I was coming?"

He furrowed his brow. "No, ma'am."

"I assumed Wesley would call you. He told me to fly to Chicago immediately. He said it was urgent."

Aaron had a cold feeling. Wesley's involvement was another gigantic, red flag. A quiet morning had suddenly become a borderline crisis.

"I'll send Smythe right over," Aaron said. "When you get here, I think we should both have a conversation with Wesley."

"I'll try to make contact with him. He can be difficult to reach at times."

"I'll see you in a few minutes, ma'am." He hung up his phone.

Aaron ignored Perry's look of confusion and walked swiftly out of his office. Smythe, Tawni, and Sheryl were in the exercise area outside. All three
legionnaires
wore white karate uniforms with gray belts. It seemed Smythe was teaching a kicking technique to the women.

"Smythe," Aaron said, "the legate just landed at O'Hare. Change your clothes quickly, and go pick her up."

Smythe's ruddy face became a shade paler. His short hair was the color of rust. A heavy square jaw and blue eyes gave him the appearance of a classic superhero. Like most veteran male
legionnaires
, he was big and extremely muscular.

"Why is she here, sir?" he said.

"I don't know, but it can't be good. Wesley is involved. Go. She doesn't like to wait."

Smythe ran off.

"Ladies," Aaron said, "come into my office."

Tawni and Sheryl followed him back to his office. Aaron snapped his fingers to get Perry's attention.

"The legate is about to arrive," Aaron said. "That's a big deal. I need to explain a few things before she gets here."

"I already met her, sir," Tawni said.