Read Online Mark of Evil by Tim Lahaye, Craig Parshall - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tim Lahaye, Craig Parshall
Ads: Link
and Curt Levin work together to create a draft statement. The statement will explain why I believe the United States has in fact not joined the Global Alliance but remains a sovereign nation, a constitutional republic with sovereign borders and legitimate federal, state, and local laws that are not subservient to the Global Alliance ofnations. Nor will they ever be as long as I am chief executive of this country. Prepare that document. I will review it. I will make my own changes. And then I will decide when I will release it to the media and to the American public.”
Secretary Tyler leaned forward. “And the question that everyone in the international community is going to ask—”
“Yes,” Hewbright interrupted. “The question about whether President Hewbright will take up arms against these Global Alliance incursions in the south? And thus risk war with the rest of the civilized world?”
Tyler waited.
“I’m still working on that one,” Hewbright said. “But the rest of the world won’t have to wait very long to get my answer.”
When the Oval Office had cleared out and the president sat alone, he had another thought. It was about the persons he had not invited to the meeting. He had deliberately avoided including anyone from the Department of Justice or the FBI. There were too many persons of questionable loyalty and tainted credibility in those offices—holdovers from the Jessica Tulrude administration.
And then there was his vice president, Darrel Zandibar, whom he had also left out. That was a different story altogether.
He wondered just how long it was going to take before his enemies learned the details of the discussion that had just transpired inside the Oval Office. He was convinced it was not a matter of if, but when . And he also wondered about something else: whether he could discover the identity of the traitors in his midst in time to avert a cataclysm for America.
TEN
GOMA CITY, DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF THE CONGO
In the twenty-five-thousand-seat indoor coliseum, the fight fans dripped with sweat in the sweltering Congo weather, even with the air-conditioning working. But no one seemed to mind. They were there to see a death match.
This was the biggest, most outrageous championship in the UEFM—Ultra-Extreme Fight Match—in the history of the sport. The center ring was walled in by bulletproof glass with two doors, one on each side for each competitor. A monstrous, cubical Jumbotron hovered high over the ring so the audience could see the close-ups of every blood splatter and hear the sound of every punch and whimper in the man-to-man combat. The high-sensitivity microphonesimbedded in the glass cage would pick up and then broadcast to the audience the actual sound of bones breaking. And in the typical fight, there would be plenty.
The gambling booths on the first floor were taking final bets. Billionaires, playboys, movie stars, and sports celebrities were in their box seats. And so was Alexander Colliquin, in his own private box, along with Mr. Martisse, his chief of security. In addition to the legalized brothels and marijuana emporiums Colliquin had helped establish in this country, as he had already done throughout Europe and Asia, he also supported these deadly UEFM fight matches. It was an effective way to get the war-torn Congo back on its feet economically after years of rebel strife and corrupt leadership.
The first contestant, Diego “The Monster” Sabiella, entered the coliseum to background music of one of Eddie Van Halen’s screaming guitar solos from the late seventies. He was given a polite ripple of cheers from the crowd. Despite his size, the six-foot-eight, 260-pound weightlifter and wrestler from Argentina was reported to move in the ring like a halfback. Sabiella went to his corner and started loosening up.
It would be difficult to understand why the oddsmakers rated him the underdog—unless, of course, one knew something about his opponent, Vlad “The
Secretary Tyler leaned forward. “And the question that everyone in the international community is going to ask—”
“Yes,” Hewbright interrupted. “The question about whether President Hewbright will take up arms against these Global Alliance incursions in the south? And thus risk war with the rest of the civilized world?”
Tyler waited.
“I’m still working on that one,” Hewbright said. “But the rest of the world won’t have to wait very long to get my answer.”
When the Oval Office had cleared out and the president sat alone, he had another thought. It was about the persons he had not invited to the meeting. He had deliberately avoided including anyone from the Department of Justice or the FBI. There were too many persons of questionable loyalty and tainted credibility in those offices—holdovers from the Jessica Tulrude administration.
And then there was his vice president, Darrel Zandibar, whom he had also left out. That was a different story altogether.
He wondered just how long it was going to take before his enemies learned the details of the discussion that had just transpired inside the Oval Office. He was convinced it was not a matter of if, but when . And he also wondered about something else: whether he could discover the identity of the traitors in his midst in time to avert a cataclysm for America.
TEN
GOMA CITY, DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF THE CONGO
In the twenty-five-thousand-seat indoor coliseum, the fight fans dripped with sweat in the sweltering Congo weather, even with the air-conditioning working. But no one seemed to mind. They were there to see a death match.
This was the biggest, most outrageous championship in the UEFM—Ultra-Extreme Fight Match—in the history of the sport. The center ring was walled in by bulletproof glass with two doors, one on each side for each competitor. A monstrous, cubical Jumbotron hovered high over the ring so the audience could see the close-ups of every blood splatter and hear the sound of every punch and whimper in the man-to-man combat. The high-sensitivity microphonesimbedded in the glass cage would pick up and then broadcast to the audience the actual sound of bones breaking. And in the typical fight, there would be plenty.
The gambling booths on the first floor were taking final bets. Billionaires, playboys, movie stars, and sports celebrities were in their box seats. And so was Alexander Colliquin, in his own private box, along with Mr. Martisse, his chief of security. In addition to the legalized brothels and marijuana emporiums Colliquin had helped establish in this country, as he had already done throughout Europe and Asia, he also supported these deadly UEFM fight matches. It was an effective way to get the war-torn Congo back on its feet economically after years of rebel strife and corrupt leadership.
The first contestant, Diego “The Monster” Sabiella, entered the coliseum to background music of one of Eddie Van Halen’s screaming guitar solos from the late seventies. He was given a polite ripple of cheers from the crowd. Despite his size, the six-foot-eight, 260-pound weightlifter and wrestler from Argentina was reported to move in the ring like a halfback. Sabiella went to his corner and started loosening up.
It would be difficult to understand why the oddsmakers rated him the underdog—unless, of course, one knew something about his opponent, Vlad “The
Similar Books
