October skies

CHAPTER 56

Thursday

Over Utah

Shafts of autumn sunlight shone across the Oval Office, dappling the thick rug with light and shade. He could see it was a glorious afternoon out there on the White House lawn.

‘Mr President?’

He stirred, drawing his eyes away from the explosion of rust-coloured leaves on the elms and maple trees to the dim interior of the office, and matters at hand.

‘Mr President?’ his aide-de-camp pressed him. ‘We need a decision.’

Shepherd looked up at him. ‘I’m afraid I really can’t let this slide any longer, can I?’

‘The people need to know where we go from here, Mr President.’

He nodded. Yes, these uncertain times required a strong leader and a clear message to those who would stand in the way of God’s will.

‘You’ve already threatened the use of the ultimate deterrent, sir. Perhaps it’s time to-’

Shepherd cut in, smiling. ‘To use the words of the Washington Post, time to shit or get off the potty.’

His aide made a face. ‘That’s putting it in unnecessarily blunt terms, sir. There is still room for negotiation with these people.’

Shepherd shook his head. ‘No, I don’t believe there is. What we’re looking at, Duncan, is a clash of faiths. These people will not listen to God’s message.’

He stood up, flexing his tired and aching back. ‘And what can you do to those who continue to refuse to sit at God’s table? Beyond the light of His love, it is cold and dark and barbaric. These people, these… non-believers… burn in torment there, Duncan, and they know no better.’

‘Sir?’

‘I’ve extended the hand of friendship and love, opened the doors of our church for them to enter. What more can I do?’

‘Yes, Mr President. But you understand, escalating this situation now would be very dangerous. There’s a delicate geopolitical balance around the middle-’

‘Duncan.’ He turned to him. ‘This is where faith in God comes into the equation. We will have a world under His new dominion. By hook or by crook, mark my words, He will unite us all under one faith… or He will leave ashes.’

He looked out at the carefully manicured lawn and beyond that at the gathered protestors bearing placards, held at bay by a cordon of marines. Above, the pure blue sky was dotted with helicopters and the smudge of smoke columns rising from the distant city riots.

‘Now is not the time to walk away from destiny.’ He turned round. ‘If they won’t open their eyes to His love, then let them feel His wrath.’

‘Sir?’

‘We’ll send the missiles.’

‘Mr President? We can’t do that!’

‘Send the missiles, Duncan.’

‘Mr President!’

Shepherd felt the warmth of the sun through the bay windows on his cheeks and closed his eyes, and imagined he could hear the roar of a thousand propulsion systems stirring to life in their silos.

‘Mr President!’

‘Mr Shepherd?’

Eyes still closed, he heard the rumble of the jet, a steady monotonous whine, and in the background the trill of somebody’s cell phone several rows of seats further back — one of his entourage of campaign workers.

‘Mr Shepherd, sir? I’m sorry to disturb you, but we need to review the figures ahead of the meeting this afternoon.’

He opened his tired eyes, blinking back the glare coming in through the round window on his right. Duncan was leaning forward in the seat opposite. ‘I’m sorry, but we do need to go over the projected spending again for the next six months before the meeting.’

‘Duncan?’ said Shepherd.

‘Yes?’

‘You do believe in God, don’t you?’

He looked confused. ‘Of course.’ He gestured towards the other workers dotted around the seats of the commercial airliner, most of them industriously tapping away on laptops or speaking animatedly on their phones. ‘Everyone on this plane believes in God, Mr Shepherd. Everyone’s behind you. And, if the polls really are giving us a true picture, millions more every day,’ he added with a reassuring smile.

Shepherd nodded and smiled. ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me.’

‘You helped me see His light, brought me across to your ministry.’

Shepherd smiled. He could see the words were coming from Duncan’s heart. ‘I’ve never once looked back, sir. I’d follow you anywhere, Mr Shepherd.’

He smiled. ‘You’re a good man, Duncan.’

‘But, uh… if I can press on. We’re looking’ — Duncan consulted his PDA, tapping the small screen lightly with the tip of his pen — ‘at about two hundred million dollars media spend on campaigning for the next six months. That’s if we want to stay in the game with the big two parties.’

Shepherd gazed wearily out of the window as his campaign manager began a tedious breakdown of fund allocations, and what additional funding support they would need to secure to stay the distance. But Shepherd’s focus drifted off piste.

‘… We’re getting a lot of support pledged from churches outside ours, a broad spectrum of Christian right. I think both the Republicans and Democrats really damaged themselves through the primaries with all that back-biting and bitching between candidates..’ Duncan’s voice droned on.

I’ve been waiting so long for this. Waiting so long to find them.

The recorded cell phone conversation between Cooke and his female associate, Whitely, indicated they were both heading out once more into the wilds very soon. Shepherd needed to ensure he could find a way to locate the site. Nothing short of exact GPS co-ordinates would do. He knew what it was like up there. In those thick woods he could be fifty yards away from those mouldering remains and quite easily never find them. Cooke and Whitely were going to lead him straight there, but only if he played his cards right.

‘… We’re poaching a lot of support from both of them right now. But that’s theoretical support, protest support. The trick will be turning that into genuine card-carrying support for your campaign, and sustaining that loyalty through the next eighteen months…’

Shepherd realised he was going to have to find an opportunity to slip away for a few days.

Prayer time.

That’s what he’d call it. A little sojourn away from the seedy world of politics to find communion with God, to seek guidance. That would play well with his audience. He decided he’d announce that tomorrow on his next Faith TV broadcast.

This needs to be handled so carefully.

His special man sent over to the United Kingdom, Carl, was doing a very thorough job, as always. Julian Cooke’s first business contact, the BBC editor, had already been dealt with effectively. According to Carl, the bumbling British police were baffled by the motiveless stabbing and were already investigating a local suspect with a previous conviction for a similar offence and a history of violent mental illness.

The other contact Cooke had made, however, might be a bit more of a problem. He had more of a public profile. He trusted Carl to handle this intelligently.

‘… in total, though, we’re going to need to chase down at least another six or seven hundred million dollars in campaign funds to take us through to the finishing line next year. I’ve lined up several meetings this afternoon in Austin, Mr Shepherd. They’re all interested in getting behind your campaign, but you’ll need to assure them that yours is not exclusively a Mormon message, but a Christian message. That means you’re going to have to equivocate a little on the abortion issue…’

Shepherd nodded absent-mindedly and settled back in his chair. He looked out at the patchwork of farmland, a chequerboard of olive and yellow squares, passing below. Iowa, Utah, Ohio… all those bioethanol-corn states were lining up nicely. He could sense that momentum was building already, carrying him forward to an inevitable appointment with destiny. He smiled and turned to his financial co-ordinator.

‘Are you ready to serve your country in office, Duncan?’

Duncan Hope looked up from his PDA. ‘I think so, sir,’ he replied, hesitantly adding, ‘Do you think we can really do it?’

Shepherd’s gaunt cheeks creased with a winning television smile. ‘This is where faith in God comes into the equation, my friend.’