Fanmer went to the communications room of the USS Bohman. “Clear the room.” He watched the crew take off their headphones, get up, and leave the room. He gave the room a cursory look before sitting at the main console. He put on a set of headphones, turned knobs and pushed buttons. Noise-filled static came through his headset in a long whine before clearing.
“Black Pawn Four to Red King Seven, comeback,” said a cryptic Fanmer.
“Red King Seven to Black Pawn Four, comeback.”
Fanmer smiled, he recognized the voice. “Red King this Black Pawn, over.”
“Go Pawn.”
Fanmer pulled a piece of paper out of his breast pocket. He unfolded the paper and smoothed it out in front of him. “Seven, Eight, Zero, Bravo Nine, Nine, Nine. Charley Walker Six, Six, Six, Alpha Four.” He waited.
“You have a go, Black Pawn.”
“Black Pawn out.”
Fanmer turned to a random channel and took off his headphones. He exited the room, allowing the crew to return. He walked to a door, knocked, and went inside. A screen came on in front of him. He stood in front of the screen and placed a device in his ear.
“Mr. Vice President, we are ready.”
Vice President Jason Reilly sat at a small, round table sipping his coffee. He was a portly man with a thick short neck and round to oval head. Black trimmed glasses set on a crooked nose in front of beady eyes and hooked around small pointed ears. His black hair was no longer than half an inch at most. His face resembled that of a magical elf, complete with thin lips.
The man had the nerve to hold out his pinky as he sipped from a Presidential teacup. It angered Fanmer. The President risked his life while his second-in-command sought the comfort of a bombproof shelter at an undisclosed location.
“Sir?”
“I heard you, Fanmer. You think I’m deaf?”
“No, sir,” said Fanmer. The words nearly choked him. He hated calling the pig sir and worse, Vice President. No one in the administration got along with the power-seeking monster. If you must buy your way onto a ticket, you should know that you are hated. This pig didn’t know it or didn’t care.
“Where is the President?”
“On his way here, sir.”
Fanmer watched the stubby pinky poke out again as the man took another sip.
“Good. I have half the cabinet here with me and need to get back to them so I will make this brief. Fleet Admiral Carmichael is in command of the Southeast group. You will stay aboard the Bohman and wait for President Connors. If he doesn’t return after an hour, you are under orders to fire the first salvo into the mountain.”
“Sir?”
Fanmer didn’t like the plan. Why should he be a scapegoat? President Connors said for Reilly to only take one other with him, once again the Vice President ignored orders and did as he pleased. Save thy self and thy scoundrel friends first. What a jerk.
Fanmer wanted to be anywhere but among warships. If these were actual aliens, he would be the first to die while Reilly and his band of cowards stayed safe and sound in an impenetrable bunker.
Vice President Reilly stared through the screen with his beady eyes ablaze. “You will do as I say. You will provide cover for Carmichael.” He leaned forward as if to come through the screen and stare down Fanmer. It worked.
“Yes, sir.”
“I want that mountain laid to waste, nothing is to survive. I have a cover story in place. Play your part and serve me well or I shall be very cross with you, Fanmer.”
He spoke the name with venom. Fanmer shuddered.
“Yes, sir.”
Why did I fall into his clutches? One lousy mistake and I get mixed up with a radical who wants to snuff his boss and take over.
“Now, Fanmer, do you have your orders?”
“I have them.”
“Good, good. Wait for Connors and when he leaves for the mountain, notify Carmichael and start the countdown.”
“Yes, sir.”
The screen went dark. Fanmer sunk into a chair and exhaled. The Vice President’s plan amounted to murder. Can he go through with it? Was warning President Connors an option? He closed his eyes and took in a shaky breath.