Authors: Kevin Carrigan
“That fucking redneck,” snarled Bonsam once everyone was gone. “How dare he challenge me?” A burning anger had been building within him, anger so deep and so powerful that it threatened to consume him. In the last few months these fits of anger struck Bonsam more frequently and with increasing intensity.
Vice President Michael Holden had always considered Bonsam a self-important upstart, and he could see that the president was about to have one of his notoriously dramatic mood swings. Holden discreetly shook his head.
One minute he’s an articulate statesman, the next he’s a raving lunatic.
Bonsam angrily paced the floor while sucking the hell out of a cigarette he had lit once the room had cleared. “It is an unforgivable breach of protocol to challenge the sitting president of your own party. It’s not my fault my approval ratings are so low,” he yelled as he let out a lungful of smoke. “The extremist enemies of my presidency who plague this country have spent every waking moment since I was elected trying to annihilate me!”
Holden had heard it all before. The president had always been a little high-strung, to say the least, but Holden had begun to seriously worry that Bonsam was ready to go off the deep end once and for all. His behavior became more and more erratic as he continually slipped in the polls to Senator Kirk. Bonsam was obsessed with the polls.
“I was going to lead America along a golden path of prosperity. I was going to usher in a glorious future filled with peace and harmony,” he said in a low voice before taking another long drag on his cigarette. “And I could have done it all, but I was sabotaged at every turn by the Republicans, the racists, the media…they are out to destroy me!”
“
Oy
vey
,” thought Holden. He fanned the smoke away from his face with his hand
.
He knew it was senseless to try to reason with the president. Bonsam never listened to anything he said. Holden had long regretted accepting the vice presidential nod from Bonsam. He had swallowed his pride big-time on that decision, considering that he had been in the Senate six times as long as Bonsam.
Vice President Holden was a moderate and a career politician. He became president of the local school board in his hometown in his early twenties and knew then and there that he would never leave politics. His looks were stunning and people often told him that if he ever left politics, he could get a job posing for GQ. He was tall, thin and extremely dapper. His salt and pepper hair was kept in an impeccable style, and his perfect set of teeth gave him a beaming smile.
Holden’s only comfort came from the prospect that Kirk would beat Bonsam in the primaries, and one year from now he’d be enjoying his retirement. Holden was actually happy for Kirk. Hell, he and Kirk had always gotten along well when they served together in the Senate.
Perhaps instead of retiring, Kirk would give him a nice cushy ambassadorship somewhere in the Mediterranean.
How great it would be to sit on a candlelit patio drinking piña coladas, feeling the warm breeze and smelling the salt air from the waterfront below. He smiled at the thought.
“What are you smiling about?” Bonsam yelled as he continued to pace the floor and mutter to himself about the conspiracies against him. “Is this the way it’s going to be, come Super Tuesday?”
Holden slowly shook his head no and motioned to the door, indicating his desire to leave. Bonsam flipped his hand and waved Holden out as he continued to pace the room. As Holden got up and turned toward the door, he grimaced at the sight of the most powerful man in the world pouting like a child and ranting to an empty room. As Holden closed the door behind him, he heard Bonsam explode one last time, “God damn it! Do they realize who they are dealing with? I am Emmanuel Bonsam, President of the United States of America!”
Bonsam walked over to the shelves behind his desk and poured a glass of Johnny Walker Blue as he tried to calm his nerves. He took a big swig and then placed the glass back on the shelf as he felt the warmth of the scotch work its way down. He leaned forward and placed both hands on the surface of his desk with his head hung low, then took in a large breath of air and slowly released it. “I have got to step up the operations of my agents,” he growled to himself.
Bonsam had long been a member of a clandestine brotherhood known as
Enkhtuyaa. Enkhtuyaa
had originated in central Asia nearly 800 years ago during the Mongol Empire. It was more powerful than the Illuminati and more far-reaching than the Freemasons. This secret fraternity had members in government agencies throughout the world, and their mission was to protect and serve those with the power to advance the causes of the exploited who for so long had been oppressed by the malevolent ruling classes. By the time Bonsam had become the President of the United States, he had the unlimited support of the
Enkhtuyaa
elders, for he was in the ultimate position to improve the lives of the downtrodden.
Bonsam had a large, loyal following within
Enkhtuyaa
, however, he manipulated many of its members into fulfilling his corrupt desires in his quest for power.
From within the brotherhood he had built an extensive secret syndicate of “shadow agents” whose loyalty to Bonsam was greater than their loyalty to the brotherhood.
His network of agents conducted a myriad of sinister operations, most of them outside the law. It had taken him years to build the network, and it had high-level moles in almost every federal agency. The only U.S. agency he could not crack was the Secret Service, however, the Pentagon was crawling with his spies, and he had shadow agents within the FBI, the CIA, and the DEA. Bonsam’s spy network touched every facet of the federal government, yet even the most senior members of his presidential administration had no idea that the shadow agency existed.
Bonsam had also cultivated bonds with some of the world’s most despotic leaders and warlords. He continually filtered funds to tyrannical governments and criminal organizations, with the understanding that someday he may require their assistance.
He had also recruited many of the best computer hackers in the world over the years and placed them in positions that gave them access to the government’s most secure network systems, just in case.
Bonsam plopped down in his chair with his head still hung low. The words Senator Kirk had spoken were still playing through his mind. He sat up straight and leaned back in his chair, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes. He could still see Senator Kirk looking straight into the camera as he cheered, “Monumental failure!” The anger he had felt earlier quickly returned.
The rage within Bonsam grew stronger and stronger and his heart pounded furiously. Visions and sounds raced rapidly through his head. It was as if his whole life was flashing before his eyes. He could not control it. Thousands of horrifying images stormed through his mind and he could not make them stop. Faster and faster they flew by.
Bonsam’s eyes shook rapidly behind his closed eyelids. He saw visions of his mother crying out for him but he was unable to reach her. He saw the White House crumbling down around him but he was unable to escape from the falling debris. Slowly a glowing, ethereal ancient temple appeared where the White House had once stood. He saw Senator Kirk laughing at him as he struggled to speak. He saw men in hooded robes hiding in the shadows and chanting his name. Their numbers grew until he was completely surrounded. He saw ancient symbols that had been carved in stone tablets. The cryptic carvings possessed a message that he knew was meant for him, but the meaning eluded him. He saw flames all around him as the images continued to spiral uncontrollably through his mind.
As the images became more horrific, he felt his body temperature rise. His skin felt as though it were on fire and his blood seemed to boil. The inferno of pain was excruciating, but he was unable to cry out. The sensations attacking his body and mind were terrifying and he shuddered with thunderous convulsions. He was screaming inside his own mind as his body was racked by spasms and flailed about uncontrollably in his chair.
Suddenly it stopped. There was no more pain. Bonsam felt nothing but peace and serenity. He had escaped the living nightmare, and his consciousness slowly drifted back to reality.
Only one vision remained in his mind…flames.
Chapter 3
“Holy shit, Gov,” said Brett Mason as he choked back the laughter. “Senator Kirk is doing all the dirty work. That allows us to take the high road during your campaign if someone else points out Bonsam’s ineptitude. Even the pinko-lib media that have been drinking Bonsam’s Kool Aid for the last three years are really warming up to Kirk. He has replaced Bonsam as the media’s darling.”
Governor Samuel Clark smiled broadly. “Imagine that,” he said as he sarcastically imitated wonderment.
Samuel David Clark became Governor of Michigan in 2008 following 25 distinguished years of service in the US House of Representatives. He gained the respect and admiration of his fellow Republicans from the start, and became more popular as the years passed and his career flourished. His commanding victory in the 2008 gubernatorial race made him the poster boy of the new Republican Party, and Republicans from across the political spectrum were convinced that Samuel Clark was the best candidate to defeat President Bonsam in the 2012 presidential election. So the Republican Party, for once, united early on and chose Governor Clark as its presidential candidate, completely abandoning its typical
modus operandi
of letting a dozen old white guys that most Americans have never even heard of duke it out in the primaries.
Clark watched with respect and admiration as Senator Kirk tormented the president. He was the only person in the Democratic Party with the balls big enough to stand up to Bonsam and point out that their emperor was wearing no clothes.
Bonsam will never survive a full court press from Alexander Kirk
.
“This is almost too good to be true,” said Mason. He was right of course. It was Mason’s keen political insight and his no-nonsense approach to campaigning that led Clark to select him as his campaign manager.
Brett Mason had been a key player on Clark’s campaign team since his early days in Congress. He had a warped sense of humor that Clark found amusing, yet his knowledge of politics and the election process was second to none. He was an unassuming man who stood only five feet eight, and he had a pudgy face and a bit of a paunch. His hairline had receded to the top of his head, but the hair that remained was brown and bushy. He almost always wore a button-down shirt with the collar open, covered by a sleeveless V-neck sweater. He was a devoted family man, and even with his hectic schedule he found ways to spend quality time with his wife and kids and remain active in his church.
Clark silently agreed as he replayed the last lines of Senator Kirk’s speech over in his mind
. A man who has repeatedly shown a complete and total lack of leadership in the executive office.
In all his years of public service, Clark had never seen someone disgrace the presidency the way Bonsam did. Even Jimmy Carter looked like George Washington when compared to Bonsam. It takes a lot more than vanity to be a world leader.
Clark hit the mute button on the remote control and plopped it on his desk. “I never told you this, but Kirk and I served in Vietnam together. He was a meritorious soldier, even though he liked to jump out of perfectly good airplanes.” Clark was referring to the fact that Kirk had been in the Airborne Infantry. As a former Infantry sniper, Clark preferred to keep both feet planted on
terra firma
.
“He’s the type of guy who would throw himself on a grenade to save others without hesitation.
And he was one tough son of a bitch. Everybody thinks he got his nickname A.K. because of his initials. But you know where that came from?” Mason shrugged his shoulders and shook his head no.
“We were outside
Khe
Sanh
during the
Tet
Offensive. The Viet Cong were all around us, and we were in deep
kimchi
,” said Clark.
“
Kimchi
is Korean, Gov,” said Mason.
“Mason, how long have you been working for me, not counting tomorrow?” Clark asked as he jokingly shot Mason a look that said shut the hell up.