The Last Election (17 page)

Clark, Mason, and nearly everyone else in the room burst into laughter watching Bonsam’s
pirouette
on the stage. Mason dropped into a news reporter voice and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, Caesar has entered the Coliseum.” More laughter followed.

Bonsam walked up to the lectern waving and smiling. As the crowd’s applause died down, his expression changed. He glowered sternly toward the audience as he spoke. “My fellow Americans, the problems our country faces are many.”

“Oh God, here we go again,” Clark told the room. The laughter rolled on. He looked over at Martineau, who smiled and gave the television a halfhearted salute.

“Problems that are brought about by our enemies who have vowed to prevent the manifestation of our glorious future!” Bonsam yelled into the microphone as his hand pounded the lectern.

“Whoa, wasn’t expecting anything like that,” said Clark, as he and the others stared on in disbelief. The laughter in the room had stopped. Even the crowd at the Palace had fallen silent.

“There is a well-organized, well-financed network of racist hate mongers that has repeatedly tried to destroy us, to destroy our divine Providence!” yelled Bonsam as he waved his hands with palms upward toward the Palace crowd. Low murmuring had begun as the overwhelmingly African-American crowd focused nervously on President Bonsam. The crowd was extremely uneasy about the way this was going. Many people started making their way toward the exits.

Mason looked toward Clark and quietly said, “What in the hell is he doing?” Clark was incredulous; he didn’t know what to say.

Bonsam was pounding the lectern and shrieking like a third-world dictator. “I stand here before you tonight on the eve of history’s last election…” and as he said the word election, he flinched ever so slightly.

A second later the sound of rapid gunfire split the air. The lectern in front of Bonsam began to disintegrate as bullets sent splinters of wood spraying into the air. Bonsam did a hard dive to his right and landed behind the row of seats that held local dignitaries and supporters of his campaign. As he hit the floor, the lights of the Palace went out, and gunshots and screams were all that could be heard.

Chapter 40

Clark quickly turned to Mason and yelled, “Go find Stryker and tell him to fire up the helicopter, now!” Mason grabbed the closest Secret Service agent by the arm, rushed out the door and headed toward the landing pad in search of Stephen Stryker, the pilot of the governor’s helicopter.
 

Martineau turned to the nearest aide and said, “Contact Lansing. Find out what is going on!”

The staff members present became frantic. Soon every member was on a cell phone trying to ascertain what had happened at the Palace. The network signal from the Palace went down when the power went out and the network anchors were desperately trying to reach their reporters on the scene, all the while reporting to their audience that an assassination attempt had just been made on the president’s life.

Amid the chaos in the darkness of the Palace, Jorge Delgado and his two-man team donned their night vision goggles and went to work. Bud Kenner and Spencer Boyd’s drugged, unconscious bodies were dragged along the catwalks high above the arena floor by Delgado’s agents. Since last night’s ambush Delgado had kept the rednecks on ice, figuratively speaking, so their blood would be nice and fresh when the authorities found their bullet-riddled bodies. Once they were in place Delgado checked their pulses one last time, then picked up an automatic rifle and riddled their bodies with bullets.

“Who could have done this, Sam?” asked Martineau as they raced toward the helicopter.

“I don’t know, Kenna, but we have to get to Detroit,” Clark said.

A moment later they reached the helicopter, which was already prepared for take off. The noise caused by the rotor wash was almost deafening. Mason and two Secret Service agents were standing at the pad with their hands covering their ears.

Clark grabbed Mason by his jacket’s lapel and shouted, “This is going to be a nightmare. Make contact with the Lieutenant Governor. We need to call out the National Guard, the State Troopers, and every law enforcement agency within 200 miles and have them converge on Detroit. I’m sure he has already started doing that, but contact him anyway and tell him that I’m on the way.”

Mason gave a thumbs-up and raced back to the residence. The two Secret Service agents pushed down on the shoulders of Clark and Martineau as they escorted them under the spinning blades of the helicopter. All four quickly climbed aboard the helicopter and fastened their safety belts. Martineau looked up at Clark and said, “You’re right. This is going to be a nightmare.”

Delgado crouched down low on the catwalk while his agents dashed off to get the chief redneck, Colonel William Seward Lane. The sounds of the screams and gunshots below were music to his ears. In an instant his men had returned with Lane. There was an agent under each of Lane’s arms as they carried him forward, Lane’s toes dragging along the surface of the catwalk. The agents stopped when they reached Delgado, turning Lane so his back was against the railing of the catwalk.

Delgado stood up and grabbed Lane by the front of his shirt. He raised Lane’s head upward and slapped him a couple of times while saying, “Time to wake up!”

He had given Lane a dosage of drugs smaller than the dosage he had given Kenner and Boyd, giving Lane just enough so that he would regain consciousness this evening. Lane was starting to come around and his eyes slowly opened. He blinked rapidly trying to get his eyes to focus. A moment later he was looking straight into the glowing green eyes of some kind of a monster.

“Remember me?” Delgado said. “I’m the
fuckin
’ spic who ambushed your ass!” Lane’s eyes grew wide in horror. Delgado smiled as he pushed both of his hands hard into Lane’s chest. Lane did a back flip over the railing and plunged face first toward the arena floor below.

As soon as they were airborne, Clark turned to the Secret Service agent sitting next to him and said, “See if you can pick up a satellite feed on the onboard television and find us some news. We need to know what is going on.”

He looked at the other agent and said, “Are you getting anything on the cell phones?”

“No, sir. Reception this far north can be ridiculous,” he replied. “I’m going up front with the pilot to see what I can get over his radio.”

“Good idea, thanks,” said Clark.

Clark turned to Martineau with a depressed look on his face. “You were right. Bonsam’s sudden schedule change to campaign in Detroit never felt legit. I should have listened to you.”

Martineau leaned over and placed her hand on top of Clark’s. With a look of deep concern on her face, she replied, “Don’t let it happen again.”

Delgado and his agents raced down the catwalk and made their way to the arena floor. Through their night vision goggles they could see people stumbling around helplessly in the pitch-black darkness of the Palace. Just for fun Delgado let out a bloodcurdling scream and fired several rounds into the air, causing more screams as the people around him crashed into one another as they dived for the floor.

Delgado raced over to the spot where the bloody body of a Secret Service Quick Reaction Force agent lay. The weapon that Delgado had used on Kenner and Boyd moments ago had been the QRF agent’s automatic assault rifle. Delgado unslung the rifle from his shoulder and placed it next to the agent. He rested his hand on the chest of the corpse and said, “Thanks for letting me borrow your rifle. You’re a hero, really, dying in action like that. By the way, great job taking out those assassins before your demise.”

Delgado got up and laughed sadistically as he and the agents made their escape from the Palace. The three men went out a service door and disappeared into the Detroit night. They were just warming up.

Chapter 41

Ixchel, Daniel, and Thomas had gathered at Thomas’s apartment for a night of pizza eating and rally watching. Neither Daniel nor Thomas were big Bonsam fans, and like millions of other Americans of the same mind they had decided to tune in to the president’s rally out of sheer curiosity. One could never know what the president would do next these days.

Ixchel had never told Daniel that she had passed out in the lab after viewing Bonsam’s image next to the sky-fire symbol. She seriously worried that she was losing her grip on reality, and she was too embarrassed to let anyone know. Now even the mention of President Bonsam’s name made her shudder.

Ixchel had been studying the symbols on the tablet for two straight days and Daniel had felt that she needed a break. She had told Daniel that she didn’t want to go to Thomas’s with him, but he eventually persuaded her to go. Ixchel’s stomach was a bundle of nerves and she barely even touched her pizza. When Thomas announced that the rally was about to start, her nerves kicked into overdrive. As she heard the CNN anchor introduce the arrival of the president, her entire body trembled.

From the moment she saw President Bonsam step onto the stage, Ixchel’s world slipped into slow motion. A feeling of dread overwhelmed her. Her senses were telling her that something terrible was about to happen.

Ixchel stared at the TV, frozen in fear. Daniel and Thomas were sitting together on the couch, too busy drinking beer and ridiculing Bonsam to even notice Ixchel’s condition. Ixchel’s eyes widened as Bonsam approached the lectern. As the camera slowly zoomed in on the president’s face, her hands started shaking. Ixchel looked into his eyes with horror. The burning evil had returned as his image pulsated before her eyes.

Finally Thomas glanced Ixchel’s way and noticed she was not looking well. He elbowed Daniel and nodded toward Ixchel. “Hey, is she okay?”

Daniel looked over at Ixchel and was about to ask her if she was all right, but before he could he saw her raise both of her hands to her mouth as she let out a scream. Daniel and Thomas stopped what they were doing and looked at Ixchel, noticing that her eyes were fixed on the television. The men quickly turned their attention back to the TV, just in time to see Bonsam scream, “To destroy our divine Providence!”

In unison they looked back at Ixchel, who was now standing there with tears pouring down her cheeks. “Whoa!” said Thomas.

Daniel stood and was about to approach Ixchel when the sound of gunfire erupted from the television, startling the hell out of all three of them. As they watched the lectern shatter and the lights in the Palace go out, Ixchel collapsed to the floor.

Chapter 42

Clark’s helicopter was over halfway to Detroit. “Sir, we’re getting something,” said the Secret Service agent as he backed away from the television. “I’ve picked up DMBC. The news out of Detroit is not looking good.”

Clark and Martineau watched as the news reports jumped from one reporter to the next. People had poured into the streets and riots were breaking out across the city. At each location, the violence and destruction were getting out of control. There were scenes showing mobs of people looting stores and other scenes of homes and cars on fire. In almost every scene, police cars and ambulances were shown racing through the streets of downtown Detroit with their lights flashing and sirens blaring. The only bright side was that no deaths had been reported so far.

Clark was deep in thought. He knew that he would have to act fast to prevent lawlessness from overtaking Detroit. “This is a tinder keg that could ignite at any second,” he said. “I wish I could get a hold of the Lieutenant Governor.”