Project Maigo (Kaiju #2)

I don’t respond to the question. It reminds me of why I considered not going through with this. If I can control the President of the United States, what’s to stop Zoomb from doing the same?

“I need you to do two things for me,” I say to Beck. “Cancel your appointments and request to be undisturbed for...” I look at my watch. It’s nearly 5pm. The sun won’t be down for another few hours. Gordon will wait until dark like a good soldier. “...the rest of the night. And while you’re at it, request a large dinner.”

Beck slowly reaches for the phone, and I imagine his hand reaching for a big red button. Way too dangerous.

While Beck makes his calls, I close my eyes and focus. I’ve got a few hours to brainwash the President.





35


Michael Spielberger lifted the $9 bottle of wine and looked at the label. It was simple and artistic. At least it doesn’t look cheap, he thought. He had spent a year’s worth of savings on this date, which had taken three months to plan. Cheap wine wasn’t originally part of the deal, but the price of renting a yacht for the night, was far higher than he’d anticipated. He’d been boating since he was a kid. Knew how to navigate the 40-foot-long yacht—it wasn’t even a sailboat. But his experience didn’t change the price tag. So he made due by cutting corners elsewhere.

He left the small galley where he’d cooked supper and headed for the deck, and his date, Deb Burns. She was a long time friend. His best friend. They spoke nearly daily, e-mailed and texted all the time. They had fun. Went to movies. Traded secrets. But in their fifteen years of friendship, nothing more had developed, despite Michael’s desires. A year previous, his friends in the IT department where he worked, had mocked him. Declared that he’d been sent to the ‘friend-zone’ until Deb decided to get married to someone else and dropped him like a sack of cow patties. The thought sickened him enough to push him into action. Tonight was the result of his long-term plan to break free of the friend-zone.

He vaulted back to the main deck with a spring in his step and the wine bottle in his hand, declaring, “Vino for the voman,” like he was a vampire. It was a long running joke between them. His widow’s peak came to a point at his forehead, making him look like an adult Eddie Munster. Although Eddie was technically a werewolf, Michael argued that his mother was a vampire, so he was at least partly vampire, hence the accent.

Deb sat on the deck, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. When they’d left, she believed they were going to a movie. That the dinner would be Burger King. She’d teased him for his more formal attire, joked that he was looking for love. She had been right but didn’t fully understand at the time. She did now, that was for sure. She glanced in his direction as he returned, but shifted her gaze back to the setting sun, a slice of orange peeking up from the horizon behind the shoreline.

He stopped beside her to admire the view. He’d rarely seen the Chesapeake Bay waters so serene. The whole scene was perfect, straight out of a movie. The boat rental company might have ripped him off, but God had his back and was supplying the perfect backdrop.

When Deb didn’t look at him, he went to work on the cork, popping it loudly with a victorious whoop. While Deb remained fixed on the view, he filled the glasses, double in his to compensate for his growing nervousness. Deb was uneasy. He knew her better than anyone, and she was distant, hardly present.

“Did you have a good day?” he asked.

She shrugged. Such a question might normally generate a half hour’s worth of co-worker gossip.

Michael glanced down at the steak he’d cooked. Mushrooms and onions covered the meat. Potatoes and green beans on the side. Her favorite meal. She hadn’t touched it. Had let the food go cold. He saw it as a symbol, and he knew how this was going to end.

They were right, he thought. I’m in the friend-zone. Always have been.

The realization came like a sucker punch. Fifteen years of strong feelings and hope for the future were crushed without Deb even speaking a word. It was like a break up. A betrayal. How could she not know? How could she not feel similarly?

He sat down, a scowl on his face, and cut into his chilled steak. He stabbed a mushroom and ate it. The food was perfection. He looked at the view again. Stars twinkled in the now dark purple sky. Wasn’t this the stuff that women dreamed about?

The next piece of steak was juicy and full of resolve. “Fuck you, Deb.”

The three words got the first real reaction out of her since they stepped on board the yacht. She turned slowly in his direction. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said, taking another angry mouthful. “Fuck. You.”