The Last Election (8 page)

The discharge had closed the doors on his military career, so Delgado returned to Oakland and soon found himself drawn back into the gang world that he had so desperately hoped to avoid. The drug trade had become very profitable for his old gang and a man with his combat skills was extremely valuable. By the time he was 26, he had taken out so many rival gang members with car bombs that his enemies started taking the bus.

Delgado became notorious in the drug wars and it was that notoriety that caught the attention of a high-ranking official in the DEA by the name of Mario Aguilar. Aguilar was also a member of
Enkhtuyaa
and one of its first members to ally himself with Bonsam. He offered Delgado the opportunity to become a member of the “shadow agency” within the secret brotherhood, and Delgado was all too eager to join. When he was assigned to a rising politician from the slums of East St. Louis, he never imagined that one day he would be the lead shadow agent for the most powerful man in the world.
 

After passing through a series of security checkpoints, the agent driving the SUV turned onto the final stretch of road leading to Camp David. Soon the SUV parked directly in front of Laurel Lodge. The agents hopped out of the vehicle and led Delgado inside. He was ushered into the main conference room, and there at the center of the conference table sat President Emmanuel Bonsam.

Even though Delgado was a former Oakland gang member and a former Navy SEAL with a number of kills under his belt, he could not explain the feelings of fear that swelled through his mind when in the presence of Emmanuel Bonsam. Bonsam had always intimidated him. As Delgado cautiously entered the conference room, Bonsam powered off the large flat screen television that hung on the wall across from the conference table. Delgado only got a quick glance at the screen before it went dark, and he saw an image of the ancient Maya calendar.

Bonsam motioned Delgado forward. Delgado swallowed hard as he walked toward Bonsam. As he got nearer, he saw that the president was looking down at a newspaper. He stopped in front of Bonsam, who finally looked up and stared, his eyes so devoid of emotion that Delgado’s blood ran cold. Just as quickly, Bonsam snapped out of it and his appearance instantly became relaxed. He picked up the paper and turned it around so Delgado could see the front page. The headline read, “Senator Alexander Kirk Killed in Plane Crash.”

Bonsam stood and said, “Well done, Jorge. Well done.”

Chapter 15

Delgado beamed with pride. “Thank you, Mr. President,” he said as he bowed slightly. Bonsam sat back down and motioned to Delgado to have a seat at the table across from him.

“You have done your country a great service. Kirk was a miscreant who posed a great threat to our nation,” Bonsam said in a matter-of-fact tone. “He was a piss-ant that needed to be crushed.” He leaned in toward the table and said, “We must crush all of my enemies, Jorge.”

Delgado stared at Bonsam and nodded affirmatively. He could tell that the president had more plans for his services. Bonsam had a distant look in his eyes now. “I have a vision, Jorge. I see a future where the entire nation praises my name and bows before me.”

Suddenly Bonsam snapped his attention back to Delgado. His voice became angry. “But I also have visions of people who are out to stop me. They are evil. They hope to destroy the destiny of this nation. Demons wearing hooded robes come to me in my dreams night after night, haunting me. They need to be stopped, Jorge. We must stop them. We must destroy them!”

Delgado was frozen in fear. He did not know what to say. Bonsam stood up quickly, causing Delgado to jump to attention. Bonsam plopped a folder onto the table in front of Delgado. “This is your next assignment. You are dismissed,” said Bonsam as he sat back down.

Delgado hurriedly grabbed the folder as he turned toward the door. He was more than ready to get out of there. The agents were waiting for him outside the door and they quickly escorted him back to the SUV. As he climbed into the vehicle, Delgado glanced down at the folder. Across the cover only three letters were written: KKK.

PART 2

Chapter 16

Clay Jackson scanned the room. Never before had he seen so many illiterate, inbred, tobacco-chewing, banjo-playing, country-fucks in one place. It was as if he had stepped down a rung on the evolutionary ladder. Even though the filth of those present made his skin crawl, he was happy to be here. It had taken some time, but he had finally breached the Militia’s inner circle.

The Michigan Militia was a paramilitary organization established years ago by a bunch of paranoid crackpots who feared the Federal Government. Its membership had declined over the years and many people considered the Militia defunct, but splinter groups had emerged. Some of the splinter groups had such close ties to the Ku Klux Klan that the line between Militia and KKK had become severely blurred.

Clay was about to meet Colonel William Seward Lane. He was the leader of the Washtenaw County Chapter of the Michigan Militia, the largest and most renowned militia group in Michigan. His compound was located just outside the city of Ypsilanti on an isolated plot of land on the shores of Ford Lake. It was well guarded and heavily fortified. “Colonel” was a title that Lane had bestowed upon himself, even though he had never served in the military. The colonel was notorious for his hatred of the federal government, and all people who were not white Protestant Americans.

Colonel Lane came into the room and sat across from Clay. “Clayton Jackson,” Lane stated as a gruesome smile revealed his tobacco-stained teeth. “Any relation to Stonewall Jackson?”

“Not sure, but I hope so,” replied Clay.
I’ll bet the Colonel would shit himself if I told him I was actually related to Jesse Jackson.

Clay was mixed race, with a black mother and a white-trash father. Sadly for him, he resembled his father, light skin and all. Wade Jackson, a whiskey-drinking son of a bitch who could never hold a job, smacked Clay’s mother around regularly and often when Clay was a child. A pain shot deep through Clay’s heart every time he remembered all the nights of abuse, crying and pleading with his father to stop as he beat the hell out of his mom. Sometimes he would try to pull his father off her, which only got him slapped upside the head. If his dear old dad wasn’t beating her, he was screaming every racial slur he knew directly in her face.

Clay’s mother Miriam was a saint. She was a shy woman, devout, with the face of an angel. She never left the house. She would sing Clay to sleep at night, even after suffering at the hands of her no good husband. Clay never had the chance to ask her why she married his father. He never understood why she didn’t just leave the abusive prick. But the day came when Clay finally realized that
he
was the reason she stayed. All the suffering she endured by staying was so she could to be there to keep him safe.

“Well, welcome boy!” Lane shouted with a hearty laugh.

Boy? I hope he said Roy.
Normally a remark like that would have immediately brought he who said it severe and painful knife wounds, but Clay kept his cool. He would have his chance to strangle the life out of this cretin all in good time.

Chapter 17

Sam Clark had been campaigning all day under the clear blue skies of South Florida. He had been shaking hands and kissing babies all across the greater Miami area. Clark loved being on the campaign trail. He was a politician who was truly at home among the citizens of this great country, unlike so many other politicians who only gave lip service when it came to their connection with constituents.
 

He was happy to be at the final rally of the day. The crowd was buzzing with energy, but Clark knew that at this particular event the excitement of the crowd wasn’t due to his presence. The supporters were here to hear the first major campaign speech by Kenna Martineau, Clark’s VP running mate.

Congresswoman Kenna Martineau had become the first female Republican Speaker of the House of Representatives back in 2010 following the voter onslaught against incumbent representatives of the Democratic Party. When the Republicans took control of the House, Martineau was the unanimous choice to be their Speaker.

Martineau had broken all kinds of barriers on her way to becoming Speaker of the House. Her fortitude during her years in congress was admired across the board. Martineau was a staunch conservative who demonstrated that the GOP was no longer just a good old boy network. The Democrats in the House considered her a formidable opponent and secretly credited her mettle while serving as the minority leader as one of the reasons the Democrats got slaughtered in the midterms. As House Speaker, her leadership had been a key to slamming the Bonsam machine into reverse.

Miami Congressman Alberto Ochoa stood at the lectern as the crowd simmered with anticipation. “Ladies and gentlemen, please help me welcome the next Vice President of the Unites States, Kenna Martineau!”

Clark gave Martineau a discrete wink as she strode across the podium to join him and Congressman Ochoa at the lectern. Cheers erupted followed by thunderous applause. Ochoa gave her a brief hug, then she and Clark joined hands and raised them above their heads as they waved to the cheering crowd. Clark felt the enthusiasm emanating from the crowd, which reaffirmed his conviction that Kenna Martineau had been the perfect choice to round out the Republican ticket.

Martineau was born and raised in a French Creole community near Lafayette, Louisiana. She was French-African on her father’s side and Spanish-Native American on her mother’s. The blend of ethnicities made her a gorgeous woman. She was tall and slender with piercing brown eyes and full black hair that hung past her shoulders. Her caramel complexion was smooth and flawless. Martineau was extremely proud of her multiethnic heritage, and she was known to politely but firmly correct anyone who referred to her as an African-American. She was an American, period.

Martineau was an only child, but she had a large extended family in the area and had plenty of cousins to play with while growing up. She loved the outdoors and spent many days hunting and fishing with her cousins, but her greatest love was books. She was a voracious reader who found interest in almost any topic. Her parents, relatives, and teachers all recognized her intelligence and unlimited potential while she was still very young.

When she was 12 her family moved to New York due to her father’s promotion at his company. The raise in salary her father received along with his promotion allowed him to enroll Martineau in a private school that was well respected throughout New York. The school was much more challenging than those in Lafayette, and she met the challenge head on. She excelled in every subject at each grade level, and graduated high school a year early while she was only 17.

Shortly after entering Columbia University’s School for International and Public Affairs, Martineau met a classmate named Marc Fortier. He, too, had a French Creole ancestry and the chemistry between them was evident from the start. Fortier shared many of the same goals as Martineau, and showed the same tenacity in achieving those goals. The relationship became passionate just a few weeks after they met, and together they enjoyed a level of love and happiness that very few couples experience. He was her soul mate, she was certain.

Martineau and Fortier married the day after she received her doctorate degree. Martineau had made numerous contacts in her field and had several papers published while at the university, so for professional reasons she chose to keep her maiden name. She began her career with the United Nations as an International Consultant advising new members of the international justice system, as Fortier continued to rise in the ranks of a Political Action Committee devoted to human rights. Fortier was on the fast track and was considering a run for city council, when in an instant his life was snuffed out on the 95th floor of the World Trade Center.