Doug ran his hand over the soft smoothness of June’s bare breast from where he was propped on one elbow, admiring the perfection of her body. It looked perfect to him, at least, from the disheveled locks of her wavy brown hair down to her slim legs and small feet. Fading bikini tan lines drew his attention to her firm breasts with their small pinkish brown nipples and the flare of her hips guarding the lightly trimmed triangle of curls at the junction of her thighs.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. “And that was a beautiful experience. I hope it was as good for you as it was for me.”
She reached up and caressed his cheek. “It was good, Doug, although I wouldn’t know much about first times. You’re only the second man I’ve ever been to bed with.” Her eyes reflected a merry cheerfulness.
“And I’ll confess, I was afraid God would strike me down dead for climbing into bed with any other man than Charlie.” She pulled his head down for a short but emphatic kiss.
Doug laughed. “I’m glad he didn’t.” He stretched back out and curled her into his arms. Her breasts pressed against his chest then flattened as he pulled her closer. Within a few moments he could hear her breaths becoming faster and heavier, desire making the sounds clearly audible.
June tugged at his shoulder and shifted her position, silently urging him to make love to her again. She wanted it even more than she had the first time, wanted it to be slower and more intimate than their first urgent coupling. The anticipation was compelling as he moved over her and planted little kisses on her lips and nose and ear. She moved again, lifting her hips, and felt their bodies come together, then gasped as he slipped deliciously inside her. She curled her arms around him and held him close as he began to move. Her body responded eagerly, in almost perfect tune with his. A rising tide of desire flooded her senses, making her want him to be even closer. She locked her legs around him and felt and heard her breath coming in short little bursts of sound, matching the slowly increasing pace of his thrusts. It seemed to go on and on, becoming wonderful and thrilling; a floating, all-enveloping sensation that captured so much of her mind and body that she forgot everything else.
Doug heard June’s voice rise to a crescendo of unintelligible noises, culminating in one long, drawn out explosion of sound as she found her release. His own body was caught up in the muscle straining intensity of their second orgasm too, so much so that when it was over he barely had the strength left to move.
“Turn it off, Doug. I don’t want to watch!” June turned and buried her head against his chest. The big screen was showing a row of five scruffy looking white men dressed in orange jump suits tied to posts with their hands behind them. Three of them had badly bruised faces; the other two might also have been beaten, but they kept their heads hung down so that it was impossible to tell.
The impending execution of the perpetuators of the Harcourt virus had been on the news all day, though Doug and June hadn’t seen it that morning. Most of their day had been spent in a bewildering remembrance of the night before. Neither of them had talked much about it but frequent touches and kisses and sitting snuggled together while they talked said more than words could have. Doug was so happy to be in her presence that he could barely stand to let her out of his sight. He was even happier that June reciprocated his feelings in the little womanly ways of showing affection he had missed so much.
The rather strong Bloody Mary they had each consumed before breakfast compensated for the bit of overindulgence in wine after dinner the night before. It was just enough to get them smiling and touching each other even more, and had sent them off to bed again right after eating. The noon newscast was when they first heard of the trial and scheduled execution.
Doug could understand the psychology behind making it public, and using a firing squad rather than lethal injection. Not allowing blindfolds was another psychological touch. He suspected that the bruises were a calculated exhibition, meant to be noticed. When the sword was raised for the countdown of the order to fire, he zapped it off.
June’s body quivered as he held her. He stroked her temples and kissed the top of her head until the trembling stopped.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ve already seen enough violence, even though I can’t feel one iota of sympathy for those brutes. I’m glad they had a military trial so the damn lawyers didn’t get involved and string it out forever.”
Doug stroked her back. “I am, too, even though that transcript of the proceedings we downloaded was fake.”
June sat up straight. “A fake? How do you know?”
“I was in the military, remember? I served on a court-martial once for an enemy alien guilty of murder.
I’m pretty sure at least parts of transcript were fabricated, if not all of it. For one thing, the timing was too convenient—right after the White House itself was overrun, and right when the origin of the virus and how many deaths it’s going to cause was getting into the media. There may not have even been a trial at all.”
“Surely our government wouldn’t—oh hell, that’s just turning my face to the wall. Of course they would.
What else made you suspect it?” She leaned away from him, far enough that she could see his face.
“The wording. Those guys are supposedly from Mississippi and northern Louisiana, but the phrasing attributed to them doesn’t ring true. Remember, I’m an old southern boy, even if I don’t have the same attitudes. The part of the transcript that has them ranting about how they were willing to die for the cause of White Supremacy sounds more like it came from the mouths of college graduates instead of high school dropouts like all but one of them are. Then further on, it goes back to sounding like something they would say, about the supreme court, abortions, gay rights and so forth, all in language about the level of fourth graders. It gives the impression that they’re about as bright as a bunch of door knobs, which is probably true. I doubt that any of them, except maybe the one with a couple of years of college, have IQs higher than room temperature with the air conditioning going. The transcript was a hurry-up job and they made mistakes. Hell, even that story about the CIA agents killed in South Africa while capturing them sounds phony. It’s more likely they turned them over to the Marines at our embassy there and then got caught up in the rampages while they were still trying to hunt down Johannsen, that rogue scientist.
“I guess I’m just naïve. I might not have suspected anything wrong if you hadn’t told me.”
“You’re no more naïve than I am—and that’s what the government wants. They were counting on reactions just like yours—and mine, for that matter.”
June looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Weren’t you glad to see those nutcases caught? And put to death? They’ve caused such a horrible number of agonizing deaths, and they’re the ones responsible for all the riots and violence and looting by the black community. That’s what people were thinking about all day; how they were going to get their just desserts. And I’ll bet you that the national commentators hardly even question the story of that geneticist’s death. You noticed they didn’t mention a body, didn’t you?”
June rested her cheek against Doug’s chest while answering. Her voice was so hampered by emotion that he could barely hear her. “I guess you’re right, Doug, once you made me face facts. But do you know what the worst part of it is?”
“What’s that, sweetheart?”
“We’ve known such things were possible for years, but we’ve concentrated more on how suicide bombers, or how maybe an atom bomb or a chemical weapons could be sneaked into the country by terrorists, and as much as ignored how a few geneticists and a bit of money could cause an epidemic killing millions. We should have been monitoring genetic labs all along and maybe prevented this.”
Doug hated to contradict her, but he shook his head. “Yeah, I guess we might have. But June… how could we have stopped this when we haven’t even been able to wipe out meth labs inside our own country or heroin and cocaine smuggling? Hell, we can’t even stop the goddamned oxy pipeline that feeds pseudooxytocin solution to the date rape and pedophile customers. If I ever got my hands on any of those lowlifes that prey on young girls and women I’d probably execute them myself. Especially the ones that seduce kids not even out of elementary school. There’s no worse scum on earth.”
“I’d take my turn with those, too. Let’s change the subject, Doug. This is too depressing.”
“Fine by me. Shall we talk about how pretty your eyes are? Or how much I like it when you tell me you love me?”
June blinked. Her lips parted as she remembered fairly screaming the words during the throes of her last orgasm. A visible blush appeared on her face and neck. “Did I say… yes, I did, didn’t I? Oh, goodness, Doug, I…”
Doug pulled her to him and kissed her as thoroughly as he knew how. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you, too. How did it happen so fast?”
“I don’t know, but you make me feel like… like this was ordained to happen. Does that make sense?”
“It does to me, and we’re the only ones that count, aren’t we?”
June nuzzled his neck. “Yes. But kiss me again, just to be sure.”
He did. She was sure.
This can’t be right! Rafe Smith struggled futilely at his bonds. He stared wildly at the riflemen preparing to execute him and his cohorts. They’re supposed to thank me, not kill me! He saw the officer raise his sword and begin the count.
“Wait, wait! You can’t kill me! I’ll talk! I know who…”
“Fire!” the officer called loudly, his sword sweeping downward in a precise arc. Rifles firing in unison drowned out Rafe’s last words. His body slumped forward against the restraints and hung from the pole, lifeless. A physician moved onto the courtyard. As quickly as Rafe was pronounced dead, the doctor retreated and it was the next prisoner’s turn to die.
Reading the charges, the sentence, then the execution and pronouncement of death of the five white supremacists took a long time, just as planned. The president had been the one to suggest that the executions be stretched out so that the scene of their punishment would stick with the audience, both live and to those watching the broadcast. He watched the first two himself, then got back to business.
There were only three persons present in the underground bunker beneath the big military base near Tel Aviv; Yitzhak Luria, the premier of Israel, Sheila Goldblatz, his Chief of Staff and General Yael Rabin, the highest ranking man in the Israeli armed forces.
Yitzhak Luria’s ancestors were a mixture of Eastern European and second generation Sabra settlers. He was short, stout and known among his intimates for his cut-throat brand of poker. He was proposing to play poker now on a grand and unprecedented scale. “We’ll never have a better opportunity than right now,” he said, his voice level and determined. “No matter what we do, or how many peace treaties we sign, the Arabs are determined to wipe us out. This is our chance to end the threat for all time.” He stared forcefully at the other two persons in the absolutely secure bunker. Meetings here were never recorded and Luria never brought an aide with him, nor allowed others to do so.
“Iran and Pakistan have nuclear weapons,” Goldblatz said bluntly. “What if they decide we’re behind it and retaliate? No, let me rephrase that: when they decide we set the virus loose they’ll retaliate. What then?” She shifted the penetrating gaze of her clear blue eyes toward Yael Rabin.
Luria felt the satisfaction welling up inside him. Goldblatz hadn’t been angered or horrified at the very mention of his proposal. Instead, he saw the remnants of the beauty which had once graced her face become brighter and more apparent. Luria turned to Yael Rabin. “Yael? What about it?”
General Rabin slouched lower in his chair and lowered his gaze, a peculiar posture for a general, but Luria knew he did it when he was giving serious consideration to a subject. His forehead below the widow’s peak of silvery white hair wrinkled in thought. He remained silent for long moments before responding.
“Iran is no problem. We know exactly where their nukes and missiles are and how to take them out.
Pakistan? Maybe. No, I’ll call that probably, depending on how much time I have to nail down the locations. And I’m sure you realize we’ll have to do a preemptive strike on both countries as soon as we set the virus loose, as well as Egypt, Syria and Jordan.”
“Why so soon?” Goldblatz asked, brushing a straying lock of hair from her forehead.
“Think about it. Their biologists aren’t dumb and you know they recruited scientists from Russia after the USSR disintegrated. We know they’re still working in Egypt for certain, and probably in Iran. As soon as lighter skinned Arabs start dying, they’ll realize we instigated a new epidemic and strike back at us, just like we would if our positions were reversed.”
“All right, let’s say we decide to do the preemptive strike right after infecting as much of the Middle Eastern population as possible with the virus… what if they have one of their own?”
“You mean a virus targeted toward genes specific to Jews?” Luria asked.
Goldblatz shrugged her shoulders. The movement was barely visible under her jacket and sweater. The bunker was always cold and she had come prepared. “If we can do it, so can they.” She knew the Jewish population was particularly susceptible to a virus that went after particular genes. Jews carried a number of unique genes simply by through long centuries of marrying only their own people.
Luria let a thin smile cross his face. “Don’t worry about it. We have a ringer in the Egyptian’s biowar weapons development center and they pass information around. They don’t have anything like the Harcourt virus yet, or like the one we’ve had for years that can target Arabs. They are doing their damnedest to develop one, though. Which is why I say strike now, while the world is preoccupied with all the blacks dying and we have the chance.” He paused then added what he thought would be the clincher. “The good thing about our bug is that it targets not just the Arabs, but all the Middle Eastern countries.”
“How so?” Goldblatz asked, as a new worry suddenly occurred to her. “How about our own Arab citizens?”
Luria shrugged. “It will get a lot of them, true, but it’s a price we can pay. There’s a lot of Arab sympathizers among them, you know. That will solve another problem.”
“Even so, the world won’t take kindly to this, Yitzhak. And a preemptive strike will initiate a war with all the Arab and Middle Eastern countries. America won’t help us this time, not if they know we instigated the new virus.”
Luria turned to Rabin. “General?”
General Rabin had been turning the complexities of the proposal over in his mind, including the certainty of all out war with their Arab neighbors should they decide to do it. “Let me think,” he said. The bunker was small, but still allowed room enough to pace. Rabin stood up. He lit a cigarette and began walking around the conference table, puffing furiously. Clouds of smoke from the cigarette wafted up toward the intake of the air conditioning vent. When he had smoked the cigarette down so low that the scorched smell of the burning filter was detectable, he sat back down.
“As you say, Yitzhak, we’ll never have a better chance. And Sheila, I have to disagree. The Americans will help. Maybe not publicly, but they’ll see that we have sufficient replacements for munitions and armaments.” He lit another cigarette, got it going good and continued. “There’s the religious factor, too.
Half the people in America already think the Harcourt virus is the work of God, preparing us for the End Times. Those people will applaud us for attacking the non-believers. And despite the anti-Semitism still prevalent there, almost everyone in America would love to see the Arabs get a dose of their own medicine. They’ve been the terrorists too long. Trust me, they’ll help us if we need it. Maybe not with manpower, because they’re tied up at home, but their Air Force will be free to act if we need them. And I know for a fact, they have plenty of munitions stockpiled.”
Goldblatz wrinkled her forehead, trying to imagine why anyone would help them after loosing a virus that might kill a hundred million people—and some of their own citizens as well.
“Don’t bother wrinkling your brain to go with those lines on your face, Sheila. It’s simple. Besides everything else, with the Arabs dead, the oil fields will be up for grabs. Do you think the Americans will let Russia, China, or Japan take them? Or the European powers? Not a chance. They’ll try, though. You name a country with insufficient indigenous supplies and they’ll begin loading their troop transports. The Americans will love it if we get there first.” When he saw that Luria’s Chief of Staff still wasn’t completely convinced he looked at the Prime minister. “Yitzhak, may I?”
“Go ahead.”
“Sheila, The American politicians already have their secret think tanks pinning down scenarios for re-colonizing Africa, and their military planners are working up the contingency plans. They aren’t about to let other countries grab all the oil. But they’re going to be tied down for a while with so many of their citizens dying. This virus will clear out a huge area of oil producing areas. Wherever Mouloukhia is eaten, they’ll die.”
“Oh.” Goldblatz’s frown lines disappeared. She shook her head and said sadly, “Human nature doesn’t change, does it? Well, better we instigate a holocaust this time than be on the receiving end, but let’s not fool ourselves into thinking we’re superior to the ones who started this. We’re going to be committing genocide, pure and simple. And once the world settles down, we may be tried and executed, even though no country is going to really be sorry to see the blacks and Arabs all dead. However, they’ll need some scapegoats to soothe their sensibilities and we’ll be prime candidates.”
Her statement sobered the prime minister and the general, but the planning went on.