The Last Election (15 page)

Martineau turned and shot Mason a dirty look. She turned back to Clark and said, “I’m serious, Sam. Bonsam has never had a chance in Michigan. He has many more places that he should be spending his time and money right now. There are still a few states that are too close to call, and some of them have lots of delegates.” Martineau was speaking very emphatically. “This doesn’t feel right.”

“Please relax Kenna, he’s desperate. He’s grasping at straws. I am quite sure the Detroit Pistons won’t mind loaning out their arena for President Bonsam’s swan song,” Mason said facetiously.

That was it. Martineau got out of her chair and marched straight over to Mason and got in his face. “Am I talking to you, Brett?” Martineau said angrily. “Of all people you should be the most concerned over this, you are the campaign manager!” Martineau said, putting strong emphasis on both ‘campaign’ and ‘manager.’

Mason’s eyes widened but other than that he remained perfectly still.

“Kenna is right, Brett,” Clark said. “We need to take this seriously.”

Mason was still a little concerned about the look Martineau was giving him. “What do you think we should do, Gov?” he asked.

Clark straightened up in his chair and placed his elbows on the desk, his hands clasped together. “Call MDOT and have them shut down I-75 from College Drive to Baldwin Road. Have the sanitation guys create a water main break the entire length of Lapeer Road until the street is underwater. Get a couple of tanker trucks full of chlorine to overturn on Championship Drive.”
 

Mason stared at Clark in disbelief. Clark stared back.

“I’m kidding Brett. Jeez.”

Mason let out a sigh of relief. Martineau threw her head back in frustration, sighed heavily, and returned to her chair.

Clark looked at Martineau, “Sorry!
 
Sorry, Kenna. I couldn’t resist.”

“Well, I’m glad you boys think this is funny, because I sure don’t,” she replied with anger in her voice. “You weren’t on the elevator with me at ABC studios. You weren’t on the Learjet with Alexander Kirk.” She glared at Clark. “You and I both know that Bonsam was involved! It may never be proven, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Now Bonsam is unexpectedly coming to Detroit and you boys want to make jokes?”

Clark and Mason both sat in silence. Finally Clark said, “Kenna, you are absolutely right. The word going around is that Bonsam has become completely irrational with his own campaign team. Anything that Bonsam does at this point should arouse suspicion.”

Mason offered a suggestion. “Can we just prevent him from holding his rally? He’s giving us pretty short notice and you know the enormous security complexities involved when a president visits a location. Let’s just tell the Bonsam team that it would be impossible to support them at this late date.”

“Maybe that’s just what Bonsam wants,” replied Martineau. “He could get on TV and lambast Governor Clark for playing dirty politics by keeping him away from the Michigan voters.”

“You are right,” Clark said to Martineau. “If the president wants to speak to the good people of Michigan, then by all means we will welcome him. Let him have his moment.” He paused as he waited to see Martineau’s reaction. “What we need to do,” Clark continued, “is just be far away from Detroit. We do nothing to steal his thunder. We give him nothing that he in his warped mind could use against us.”

“Where do we go? Should we campaign in another state?” asked Martineau.

“I need a break from campaigning, Kenna,” said Clark. “It’s supposed to be unseasonably warm this weekend. Let’s go to the summer residence. After all, this may be the last time we get to go there.”

“All right, Sam. That sounds like a good plan,” Martineau said. “But just tell me I’m not alone in thinking that Bonsam’s visit just doesn’t feel right?”

Clark folded his arms across his chest and slowly shook his head, “No, you’re not alone.”

Chapter 35

The trip back to Charlottesville from Mexico seemed like it was never going to end for Ixchel, but now that she was finally back she felt that she could start to unwind. It was early Friday night and she looked forward to a long, relaxing weekend that would allow her time to catch up on her sleep.

Sleep. Peaceful sleep had eluded her since she first learned of the Maya tablet that had been discovered by Professor Jameson. Her nights since had been restless.
 
Each night she tossed and turned, her mind preoccupied with vivid recollections of the strange sensations she had experienced when she examined the tablet and studied the sky-fire symbol. If she wasn’t thinking about that, she was unable to get the thoughts of Patrick’s murder out of her head.

Daniel had gone straight home, but Ixchel wanted to stop by the archaeology lab and spend just enough time to organize the information she had brought back from Chacchoben. By this time everyone else had cut out for the weekend, and she found herself alone in the lab. With the news of Patrick’s murder and the strange things that she had recently experienced in Mexico, she was surprised at how comfortable she felt in the lab this evening.

As she unpacked the items she had brought back from Chacchoben, she felt the urge to take one more look at the pictures of the sky-fire symbol. She popped her flash drive into her computer and pulled them up. As she looked at them, her thoughts went back to seeing the image of the sky-fire symbol embedded in the flames of the explosion that had brought down Senator Kirk’s plane.

“I know I shouldn’t do this,” she thought, but she pulled up a picture of the explosion and placed it next to the picture of the sky-fire symbol on her computer screen. She still saw a definite connection between the two, however, she was thankful that she wasn’t hit with any unusual feelings this time. She continued to stare at the pictures for a long time.

As she looked at the picture of the explosion, the words Daniel had spoken while they were in Chacchoben echoed through her head, ‘Well, one thing I know is that many people believe that President Bonsam had something to do with it.’

“I know I
really
shouldn’t do this,” she thought, as she went to Google images to find a picture of President Bonsam. She selected a high-resolution portrait of Bonsam, copied it, and then placed it on the screen between a picture of the symbol and a picture of the explosion that destroyed Senator Kirk’s plane. Her eyes darted between the three pictures. What she was looking for she did not know. She stopped to focus solely on the portrait of Bonsam. She enlarged the image and looked directly into Bonsam’s eyes.

Oh God no!
Another flash of brilliant white light burst before her eyes. The image of Bonsam pulsated as if it were coming right off the screen. With horror she watched as Bonsam’s eyes became filled with flames. The pulsations grew stronger and the flames gave off such an intense heat that she felt as though her skin was going to burn. Her screams echoed through the halls of the building, but there was no one there to hear them. A blast of wind struck her yet again, even harder than the time before, knocking her to the floor.

On the screen of the computer on the table above Ixchel, the portrait of Emmanuel Bonsam continued to pulsate. Even though she was unconscious, a voice from within her mind called out, “I am here.”

Chapter 36

Colonel William Seward Lane took a long slow pull on a cigarette as he looked out the van window. He stared straight ahead, deep in thought, as the van sped down the long country road.

Clay caught a glimpse of Lane out of the corner of his eye as he drove to the rendezvous point.
He has no idea what’s coming.

Clay certainly hated Lane and everything he stood for, but in a strange way he admired him. Lane was a painfully misguided individual, but he possessed powerful leadership genius. He was smooth, definitely, and he ran his operation with extreme finesse. Lane had the charisma of a televangelist, and he captivated his audiences with his dynamic speeches. Even though most of his followers were a bunch of dimwits, their loyalty to Lane was unequivocal. Lane made sure that no one in his branch became too powerful. His previous second-in-command foolishly made a power play to usurp control of the branch, and shortly thereafter was found hanging by his neck in the woods behind the compound. Clay knew it would be a serious mistake to take Lane lightly.

Lane didn’t know what was coming, but he sensed danger. He always sensed danger. His paranoia was what kept him in power. He trusted no one. He treated everyone as if they were set to betray him. Clay was within Lane’s comfort zone, but still…

Lane looked over at Clay. He really liked Clay, but if Clay made the smallest false move, Kenner and Boyd were there to take him out.

Clay could sense that Lane’s eyes were on him.
I wonder what’s going through his mind right now.

Clay pulled off the main road and headed down a dirt road that went through a heavily wooded area. Lane sat up straight, took one last pull on his cigarette, and flicked the butt out the window. Kenner and Boyd put their hands on their weapons.

“We pull up, my contact will show you the weapons, we give him the money, transaction complete. Shouldn’t take more than 10 minutes, depending on how fast we transfer the weapons to our van,” said Clay.

Lane gave Clay an, “Uh huh,” and pulled the duffle bag with the money off the floor and onto his lap. Clay glanced at the duffle bag. It was packed. That was another tribute to Lane’s leadership. He could raise funds. Oh, could he raise funds. Lane knew plenty of powerful like-minded people with deep pockets who discreetly supported him and his cause.

Clay shot another quick glance toward the duffle bag. Soon it would be his. It was his reward for delivering Lane, Kenner and Boyd to Delgado. Delgado had assured him that the death of Lane would send shockwaves throughout the white supremacy world. Just the kind of revenge Clay was looking for.
 
  

Clay slowed the van down to a crawl and put his parking lights on as they approached a clearing. There was a full moon in the sky so Clay could easily see where he was going. A few seconds later, what appeared to be a large delivery truck came into view. It was a UPS-style truck, with a roll-up back door. Lane leaned forward, squinting to get a better view. Clay looked into his rear-view mirror, only to see Kenner and Boyd smiling like children on Christmas morning.

They stopped about ten yards from the truck. Clay left the engine running and stepped out of the van. Kenner and Boyd slid open the side door and piled out, taking their sawed-off double barrel shotguns with them. Lane stepped out last, making sure Boyd and Kenner were in front of him before moving toward the truck.

Lane could see a man standing in the shadow beside the truck, so he continued forward cautiously. When they were about 10 feet away, Lane saw the man raise his hands, indicating that he was unarmed. Lane relaxed a little, but only a little. The trio approached the man, stopping near the rear of the truck. Lane was uneasy that the man stood in the shadows, but he figured he’d be doing the exact same thing if he were in the man’s position and making a transaction like this.

Lane paused, then said, “Can we take a look?”

Delgado lifted his hand toward the rear of the truck and replied, “Be my guest.”

Lane heard the Spanish accent and immediately realized he had been set up. He grabbed Boyd by the collar and flung him over so that Boyd was between him and the man in the shadows. “Shoot! Shoot! Shoot!” he screamed.

In an instant the back door of the SWAT truck flew up and Delgado’s agents jumped forward with their custom-made rifles. Boyd was startled by being unexpectedly yanked by Lane and Kenner just looked on in surprise. The agents fired three quick shots, and down went Lane, Kenner and Boyd.
 

The rounds the agents had fired were not bullets—they were tranquilizer darts. Boyd and Kenner were out cold instantly, but Lane faded more slowly. As he rolled onto his back, he saw Clay standing off to the side.
God damn you.

Delgado walked over to Lane and squatted near his head. He leaned over and looked directly into Lane’s eyes. He slapped Lane on the side of his face with two soft slaps, smiled and said, “
Buenas
noches
.”