“I want water.”
“When you finish. Start with the animals you tortured as a boy. The girl you raped in high school. The one you murdered in college. Spend plenty of time on your sprint of pedophilia as a prophet in the Grummonds. Does your wife know how many girls are in your harem? List whose palms you greased to start your career as a politician. Don’t leave your association with Amir Hadad out. Or your part in earmarking funds for the research facility that was testing bio weapons on underage volunteers from the Friendship Community. Such a fascinating life you’ve lived. Write it all out. I have time.”
The man smiled. Only King knew those things about him. He had to be King.
“Oh, and be sure to note how you mobilized the WKB against the girl who was one of your twelve-year-old brides, ripping open a wedge in my organization wide enough for the whole fucking federal government to step into. That, my friend, was your biggest sin. Now write, before your water gets hot.”
“I had to stop her.”
“Not at the cost of my kingdom. Write. It. Down.”
George wrote down the things King listed. He wasn’t King. He couldn’t be King. He was too young; George had been working with him for more than half this guy’s life. Perhaps there was more than one King? Maybe this King had inherited the job from the previous? He wrote the things the man mentioned, no more and no less, though there were more. Too much for the sheets given him.
He handed the clipboard to the man and reached for the water.
“Ah-ah-ah. A moment, please.” The man read over the confession. “Sign and date it.”
George took the clipboard back and did as he requested.
“Very good. Now, we just have your decision about the rest of your life. I am not going to kill you.” King smiled, the expression anything but benign. “Here are your choices. Option A, you turn yourself in, with this, and accept your punishment.”
“That will end my career. I’m far too useful to you. I know things about you.”
“Very true. Hence Option B.” He nodded toward the still-cold bottle of water. “Drink the entire contents of this bottle.”
“Why that bottle and not a different one from the cooler? What’s in it?”
“LSD. Not enough to kill you, though your death will follow shortly. Of course”—King touched his heart—“I am not without empathy. The LSD will prevent you from feeling anything.”
King removed the papers from the clipboard and slipped them into a sealed plastic bag. “What is your choice?”
“My life’s over either way.”
“Very true.”
George reached for the water bottle. He opened it and looked at King as he guzzled most of its contents.
King smiled and settled back in his chair.
Instead of the pain George had expected, a comfortable, warm sensation slipped through his veins. He laughed. This wasn’t death. King had just been scaring him. He had overstepped in sending the WKB after that bitch. There wasn’t anything on that paper that King didn’t already know about him, obviously. He couldn’t believe he’d fallen for King’s bullshit. Thank God he hadn’t lost his head and begged.
He looked at the huge ravine in front of them. It was an odd geographical feature that seemed to appear out of nowhere. There wasn’t a river causing the draw to develop. It was just a massive crack, about a half-mile wide and several miles long. Maybe at the bottom, there was a small creek running through it. Trees and sage had claimed tenuous spots on either side of the rocky walls.
The heat made George’s skin itch. He scratched his forearm. The collar of his golf shirt rubbed his neck in an irritating way. He scratched there, too, then held the ice-cold water bottle up to his forehead. He was feeling just a little queasy. He looked over at King, who was watching him with concerned eyes.
“Sorry. This heat,” George mumbled. “I have a hard time with it. It’s much better when Colorado’s cold than hot.”
King smiled. It was a kind smile. “I understand. It’s the heat, you think?” He looked over toward the ravine. George followed his gaze. “Or is it the vultures?”
George looked on in shock as huge turkey vultures flew out of the ravine. Three of them. Their six-foot wingspans kicked up dust as they perched on the ravine’s edge. It was a beautiful and horrible sight.
“Drink some more water. It will cool you down. The smell of sweat attracts them. Drink.”
George lifted the bottle to his lips and drained the remaining liquid in it, all while watching more and more vultures pop out of the ravine. One came close. King calmly shooed it away. He was brave. Shit.
“Remind me, when did we first meet?” King asked.
George laughed. “You forgot? You came to me. The Senate ethics committee was launching an investigation into my alleged misuse of official resources. You made it go away. I’ve been your faithful servant since. Even my son is in your debt. He’ll serve you as well.”
King smiled. “That pleases me.”
“I’m not the only high-ranking official in your service, but I was the first.”
“Ah. And who are the others? Tell me their names.”
George did, pleased he knew so much. He knew too much to be easily disposed of.
King stood and took his folding chair, then the cooler and put them in the black SUV. George swiped his forearm against his forehead. One of the vultures hopped toward him, then spread its wings and flew closer, landing only a couple of feet from him.
George shouted and jumped up, then backed away. He tripped and fell, scrabbling away as he kicked backward. King put his chair into the black SUV as well.
“King! Help me!”
King waved the demon vultures away.