Another slew of incoherent expletives punctuated his tirade and continued for a full five minutes while the senator punched the cabin wall repeatedly. So powerful were his strikes, he managed to crack the shell enough to worry Roth about the integrity of the cabin pressure.
The senator stood huffing ragged, angry breaths. His head leaned against the cracked wall, hands stretched on either side of him, palms flat, as though he was about to be searched for weapons. The knuckles on his right hand were ripped up and bleeding but unnoticed by the crazed man still muttering to himself between breaths.
A few moments passed and Roth thought to try talking rationally.
“Are you saying that girl can execute some sort of mass hypnosis? That she manipulated the outcome of the votes by influencing a hundred people?”
“You saw the footage from Flagstaff,” Arkdone moaned miserably.
“Well, yeah, but that was just a handful of soldiers. We’re talking about at least a hundred people, milling around, drinking, talking, dancing. Is that even possible?”
“It was her.” His forehead still pressed against the wall, he shook his head. “It makes sense now. That’s why she was unconscious with a bloody nose when Sirus brought her to the limo last night. She hadn’t been drinking. She had been exhausted from using her psychic abilities.”
He pushed himself away from the wall and looked down at his right hand with perplexed expression, as though he hadn’t noticed the pain until that moment. As he made his way back to his seat, Roth watched him flex his hand and grimace from the effort. He slumped into his seat and pushed it into a reclining position.
Ermos, who hadn’t moved an inch during his controller’s tirade, discreetly exited the main cabin to hurry back to the galley. He yanked opened the ice machine and grabbed a handful, plucked a cloth napkin free from the utensils wrapped inside and shook it open.
“Can I help you, sir?” The dowdy flight attendant looked down her nose at Ermos, obviously resentful at being ousted from her duties by Arkdone’s personal servant.
“Yes. My master requires Scotch.”
“Scotch?”
“And Miss, if it’s in those tiny bottles, please bring as many as you can carry.”
“Of course sir,” she raised her brow but went about opening a locked cabinet. Ermos passed her an empty ice bucket encouraging her to fill it with the bottles.
Ermos exited the cramped space with the ice wrapped in the cloth napkin. He approached the Senator warily. He had seen his master angry before, but he’d never known him to lose his cool as he did just then. Not sure what would happen next, Ermos bowed and silently held the ice pack out to Arkdone.
The senator had been leaning back, looking up at the ceiling of the cabin with intensity, eyes darting as though he were studying a picture only he could see. He didn’t even acknowledge Ermos’ outstretched hand.
“Sir? For your hand? To help with the swelling,” he spoke in shorthand, not wanting to set his master off again.
Arkdone’s eyes closed briefly before he righted his chair and glowered at the memory of Meg’s angelic face.
Adrian Roth had poured himself a glass of orange juice and was staring out one of the windows. His Machiavellian mind was still plotting ten steps ahead in multiple directions. Roth turned around when Ermos entered the room and watched the Senator absently take the ice pack and hold it to his cut up hand.
“Well played, Meg. Well played. Clearly, our deal is off,” Arkdone’s black eyes flashed with unrestrained hatred.
He nodded slowly to himself and as he did a slow smile crept across his strikingly handsome face.
The ice made a soft clinking sound as Arkdone set the bundle aside and reached into his pocket to pull out his phone. Forcing the fingers on his right hand to work, he swept the screen alive and typed five digits.
M-M-9-1-1
“It’s time to call everyone in,” Arkdone muttered.
“Sir?” Ermos bowed subserviently.
“My slaves, dear Ermos. I have a task for them—all of them.”
He listened to the familiar clicks as the system linked him to every metamonarch he had ever created, scattered strategically around the world. When the series of clicks indicated a connection to the universal voice message board, Arkdone recited a line Roth recognized from Shakespeare: “‘Hell is empty and all the devils are here. Return immediately to the asylum and await further instructions.’”
He disconnected the call, replaced his phone into his pocket and retrieved the ice pack.
“Ermos, contact whoever it was you left in charge of household duties and tell them to make ready all living quarters. We’ll have a reunion the likes of which our hospital’s never seen.”
“As you wish, sir.” Ermos backed out of the cabin. He had a phone call to make.