The Beijing conspiracy

CHAPTER 35

‘H ow was your golf?’ Simone asked, giving Richard Halliwell a lingering kiss on the cheek.

‘Beat the b’Jesus out of both of them,’ Halliwell boasted, his words a little slurred after several Ancient Reserve Glenfiddichs. The President had been able to relax among like-minded Republican friends and the visit had lasted for quite a bit longer than Esposito had scheduled. The Lincoln Penthouse on the thirtieth floor of The Vineyard Resort boasted sweeping views, and out beyond San Francisco Bay and the Golden Gate the fiery red rim of the sun was just disappearing below the horizon.

‘Is that wise, darling, to beat the b’Jesus out of the President of the United States?’ Simone asked, reverting to a term of endearment she only ever used when they were alone.

‘It is when he’s just asked you to run as the next one,’ Halliwell said, squeezing Simone’s bottom.

‘He’s going to back you?’ Simone felt a surge of excitement.

‘Wants me to throw my hat in the ring for the Republican nomination,’ Halliwell replied, careful not to mention the President’s other request for him to re-commence research into the dark world of biological warfare.

‘I had a private drink after the game with his advisor, Dan Esposito, and he thinks I’ve got all the right cards. Solid business credentials, runs on the board, good family background and not only that,’ Halliwell added enthusiastically, ‘Esposito has told me quietly that my links to Jerry Buffett and his church won’t do me any harm either. Buffett’s likely to get behind my nomination and he’ll bring thousands of other churches on board with him. And that,’ Halliwell said, helping himself to a large bourbon, ‘is a very big plus.’

‘I think this calls for champagne,’ Simone said. A little while later she emerged from the penthouse’s stylish kitchen with a bottle of Krug, vintage 1964.

‘To Richard Halliwell, the next President of the United States,’ Simone said, handing him a slender crystal flute and raising her own in a salute.

‘President Halliwell. I think the business world will get behind me, don’t you?’ he asked.

‘Of course, darling. They couldn’t wish for a better champion. Who’s going to run your campaign?’ she asked, already alert to any threats to her own position.

‘Esposito. There isn’t anyone better,’ Halliwell replied, raising his chin arrogantly and staring out over the hills. Around the foreshores lights were glimmering in the distance.

‘It would be good to meet this Dan Esposito,’ Simone said provocatively as she leaned against Halliwell. ‘What would you like for dinner? I thought we’d eat in tonight.’

‘You don’t want to eat in the restaurant?’

‘You’ve just had a game of golf with the President of the United States, Richard,’ Simone replied, immediately taking control of image and PR. ‘The golf club members know about it, so it won’t be long before the rest of the world does. As the next President of the United States, you have a reputation to protect,’ she said, adjusting the collar of his golf shirt and letting her hand slide over his chest. ‘Can you imagine what the Democrats would do with a photograph of you and I having an intimate dinner? That’s an ad campaign we don’t need, darling, even if I am going to be your private secretary in the White House. Besides, I thought a dinner with just the two of us would be rather nice.’

Richard Halliwell walked unsteadily across the penthouse to where Simone was now reclining on the lounge that faced the big windows overlooking the vineyards far below. Simone’s red hair cascaded over her shoulders, the low-cut, black evening gown accentuating her generous cleavage.

‘I think we should fuck,’ Halliwell said thickly, grabbing at her breast.

Simone groaned inwardly. She never missed an opportunity to exploit Halliwell’s weakness for sex but when he was drunk, and he was now very drunk, it was a case of humouring him and getting it over with, although drunk or sober, getting it over with was the usual.

Halliwell put his drink on the coffee table, spilling champagne on the polished glass. He unzipped his fly and fumbled for his small, half-erect penis.

‘Suck my cock,’ he demanded, pushing his groin towards Simone’s face.

‘More comfortable in the bedroom,’ she answered in a throaty voice.

Halliwell fell over while he was trying to get his trousers off and had to clamber into the bed from the floor. He crawled on top of Simone and, to her surprise, she found that he was hard, despite the alcohol. Even though his erection was tiny she winced as he forced himself into her.

‘Fuck me, Mr President, fuck me,’ she whispered huskily. ‘Oh yes! Yeeesss.’ It was a well-practised routine for Simone Carstairs but tonight the faked orgasm was not really needed. Richard Halliwell groaned as he came almost immediately, farted, rolled off her and fell asleep.