Senator George Whiddon lowered the sun visor. It was so hot outside that his Mercedes had a difficult time keeping things cool. He’d plugged the location coordinates into his GPS. It hadn’t rained in weeks out here in the remote Colorado plains. Months, even. The dirt road he was on sent a plume of dust high into the air. He was going to have to get his car detailed after this trip.
But it would be worth it.
He hated this half of his state. It was a barren wasteland, fit only for oil rigs and rattlesnakes. The plains were brown with dead grass. Even the sage and rabbitbrush looked skeletal. He came this far east in his state only during campaigns. The rest of the time, he sent his employees when something needed his attention.
He tried to adjust the air conditioning again, but it was already as cool as it would go. Maybe it wasn’t only the August heat making him sweat. Maybe it was the fact that he was finally going to meet King. For more than a decade, they’d been partners, building a future fit for world leaders like themselves. For ten years, he’d pulled strings for King from inside the government, run interference for him, smoothed the way for him. Whatever King wanted, King got—and not only from George.
None of his peers, the few of them who were going to survive the coming Armageddon, knew what King looked like. None of them had met him in person. He would be the first. He already suspected he was King’s highest-ranking operative. For that’s really what he was. An operative. A rebel. An instrument in the making of a new world order. A founding father of the new country.
His place in history would never be forgotten.
He smiled, then guzzled a long swallow of water from his plastic bottle. The fine dust from the road left grit in his mouth—even with the windows closed and the air on recycle. He looked at his GPS. Twenty-three more miles to go. This part of Colorado slid seamlessly right into Kansas. He wasn’t surprised this was where King had picked for the meet. King was a man who fiercely protected his privacy. Out here, there were no cameras. And the appointed meeting time was conveniently between satellite rotations.
George watched his progress on his phone’s map. He’d reached his destination. He slowed, then stopped. There was nothing out here, only miles and miles of brown earth, dead grass, and wind. It was a great ocean of parched land.
The only thing that told him he was in the right spot was a black SUV parked facing away from him on the low slope of a hill. He drove across the dry field and pulled up next to it.
His phone rang. “Leave your keys in the ignition and your phone in your car,” the electronically altered voice ordered. George complied, feeling ripples of excitement.
“Very good. Pick up the wand and scan yourself.”
Again George complied. Of course he wasn’t wearing any transmitting devices. He wasn’t a fool. He knew everything he’d done for King could come back and bite him in the ass.
“Very good. Pick up your phone and come forward.”
George could feel his heart speed up. This was a day he’d never forget. This day made everything he’d done for King worth everything it had cost him. George walked up over the hill. His palms were damp.
A man sat in one of two folding chairs. Between the chairs was a cooler.
George walked up to the man, who was younger and more fit than he’d expected King to be. The man wore glasses, so it was hard to tell his age. Somewhere between twenty-five and forty, he guessed.
George held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, King.”
King didn’t look at him or return the handshake. Instead, he turned and retrieved an ice-cold bottle of water from the cooler. George’s mouth watered in anticipation.
King cracked the seal and guzzled the refreshing liquid. “Sit down,” he ordered.
George sat.
“You’ve broken my trust,” King said. Somehow, even in person, his voice was being electronically altered.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.”
“May I have some water?”
“In time.”
They sat in the bright afternoon sun. The dry air evaporated George’s sweat as soon as it appeared on his skin, leaving it salty and itchy. He licked his lips, a rough drag over dry skin.
King lifted his face to the sun and smiled. George took note of all of his features. His legs were long and muscular, his waist lean, his shoulders broad. George had the feeling that King was six inches or more taller than he was. A few days’ growth of beard shadowed the ridge of his jaw. There was a cleft in his chin. His hair was a warm brown, reddish in the bright sun. Black nitrile gloves covered his hands, partially covering the tactical watch on his right wrist.
“You’re not King.”
The man smiled. “How would you know?”
“You’re too young.”
The man’s head slowly tilted his way. “Maybe I have a clear conscience and therefore age slowly.”
“I’m fine with what I’ve done. It’s for a greater good. A new beginning for this country and the world.”
“One where prophets marry twelve-year-old girls and rape them before an audience of like-minded religious fanatics?”
The first whisper of panic flicked through George’s mind. “Who are you?”
“Your life, as you know it, ends today, in the way of your choosing.”
George tried to lick his lips again, but this time his tongue stuck on the first patch of skin it reached. He pulled it back into his dry mouth. “Did King send you?” His voice was raspy. He needed water.
Silence. The man reached into the cooler and brought out a fresh bottle of water. He set it on the cooler, then handed George a clipboard with pieces of white paper and a pen tied to the clip.
“Confess your sins. I hear it does a body good.”
“No.”
The man smiled. “This is the end of the road for you. Did you not notice?”