CHAPTER 5
President Clayton paced in his office—the Oval Office. He snorted at the thought. Washington as a place of power was extinct. To keep the United States in a position to remain a player on the world stage, he had formed the Council of National Alliances—a coalition of suppressed and struggling nations that needed each other’s support in order to survive. He had formed it. He had been elected president, but he knew it was all a smoke screen. He didn’t actually run anything because the Council was flat broke. They had no money and so had no power.
Enter the Triad. The Triad was nothing more than a mob organization, but they had money and resources. Clayton had no idea how they had managed it, but in the aftermath of the economic collapse, the Triad had flourished. They ruled no nation, had no location that could be bombed or attacked, and apparently had a dispersed base of operations. No one knew who or where the Triad was being controlled.
In desperation, he had made a deal with the Triad to gain use of some of their money and resources. One concession was this blasted Hunt.
A knock on the door brought him to a halt. “Come.”
The man who entered showed no decorum or respect. He sauntered in and flung himself down on the couch, waving his hand at the President in a casual way. “Might as well sit down, Mr. President. We have a lot to talk about.”
“Manari. I doubt anything you have to say would greatly interest me.”
The short Italian laughed. “No doubt.” He placed a finger along the bridge of his nose. “But neither can you afford to dismiss my words, no?” He laughed again. “Sit. Sit. You make my neck hurt looking up at you.”
Clayton studied his hated guest. Manari was some sort of officer in the Triad. The President didn’t know exactly what the man did or what his title was, but currently, he thought of him as the Triad’s chief blackmailer. He sat down across from the odious man and shifted around, trying to get comfortable. “Okay. Talk then.”
“You have captured three offenders of your new Ts2, have you not?”
“We have.”
“Good! Very good.” Manari rubbed his dark-skinned hands together. “We can then begin soon, eh?”
“I still don’t understand why we have to do this Hunt. We can accomplish the same thing by a public execution—something more humane.”
The man barked a short laugh. “Humane? Have you looked around you lately, Mr. President? When was the last time this world was humane? This is about stability and the future. The people need to know that they cannot mess with you. They need to know there are repercussions. They need to see it. They need to watch it. They need to witness the horror of it as your offenders are eaten by the dragons.” He grinned. “Plus, it will bring a lot of money to our coffers—and by extension your own.”
And that was the real truth. Money. This whole Hunt was about bringing in money, money Clayton needed desperately to keep his position of authority on the Council as well as bring some measure of hope to the United States. Most of the population lived in constant fear. Laws were being flaunted with terrifying ease, and other than the stretched-out military, most of the cities and states had lost their entire governmental infrastructure. The few police out there were targets. Only money would help revitalize the economy, restructure local governments, and hire police officers. Only money. And the only money available came from the Triad.
“So what next?” the President demanded.
“We need to fly your prisoners to the island. My men will take over transport and security.”
The President shook his head. “I want one of my people to go along.”
Manari’s eyes narrowed. “You are hardly in position to be making demands on the Triad, Mr. President.”
“I’m aware of that. But you are going to get rich off our relationship. I want some assurances and oversight, or the rest of the Council may fight you—no matter how much money they may lose. Test their pride, Manari, and they just might bite back.”
“Are you speaking for them, Mr. President, or for yourself?”
Clayton remained silent, staring across at the other man.
“Very well,” Manari conceded, breaking the silence. “You can send a man. He will help us with security, transport—” he grinned suddenly “—and the cooking.”
“You’ll need to take that up with him. His name is John Dale. He is the man who operated the Ts2 and caught the offenders. He knows the prisoners, so his advice may be invaluable.”
“How so? They are just kids. What is there to know other than they will die?”
“Not if they kill the right Komodo Dragon. You said whoever kills the one that killed that local chief’s son will be set free.”
Manari shrugged. “Without hope, Mr. President, why try?”
“You mean to kill them anyway, don’t you? You’re a lying rat, Manari.”
“Perhaps.” He slid forward in his seat, his hands gesturing grandly. “But a rich rat. You don’t understand how this game is played, do you? If we let even one of them survive or live, then any fool will take it upon himself to test that hope. Your goal is to end the violence in your pathetic country. So be it. We can help. We need to show them that they will die if they are caught. Only then will the population be reined in. You need to show strength, Mr. President, or everyone will try to take what little power you have left away from you. This is the reality of the world we now live in—a reality your nation helped create. Hunger. Violence. Desolation. None of this will go away until there is a government that can make it go away.”
Clayton hated being lectured by a thug, but much—not all—of what the man said had already been concluded by his cabinet of advisors and his fellow Council members. He turned towards the door and nodded. The door opened and John Dale walked in, his ever present sunglasses hiding his eyes behind the dark pools.
“Mr. President.” the man said.
“John. This is Manari. His is the field coordinator for the Hunt. You were briefed, correct?”
“Aye, Mr. President.” Clayton couldn’t tell if the man approved or not.
“Good. Manari is in charge of logistics as well as the Hunt itself. You are to make yourself available to him in whatever capacity he sees fit—with this one exception.” He turned to look at Manari. “You are to oversee the Hunt as an observer. You are not to interfere, but I want your evaluation of the events. Do you understand?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Manari, John has the prisoners in a secure location. He will take you to them and help arrange transport to the Dulles whenever you are ready.”
Manari jumped to his feet, rubbing his hands. “Perfect. He walked out of the room, snapping his fingers. “Come, John the Spy or whatever you are. I want to see the merchandise.”
“They’re people,” John snapped. “Not merchandise.”
Manari turned and looked upon John with appraising eyes. “Ahhh…got some moral scruples, eh? How quaint. Come, John the Moral. Let us look at the merchandise.”
Clayton looked at John and shook his head in apology. He couldn’t read the man’s face—not with those blasted sunglasses, but he guessed the man none too happy. “Go with him, John. Find out what you can and report the results back to me.”
“Aye, Mr. President.”
After the two men left, Clayton flopped back down on his couch and hung his head between his hands. He hated this job.