Test Pilot's Daughter II: Dead Reckoning (15 page)

“Oh God!
Okay, that’s it.
Do it!”

She thought she would explode. She’d had enough messing around and yanked him down on her. Reaching blindly she guided him home. Instantly the two were one, and the action was furious. She rolled him over and took control, only to be rolled back beneath. As they continued their wrestling match, all the problems of her world were naught. There was only one world now, and it was between her legs. There was no terrorism, no corrupt government, no ambitious military, no space program, not even a planet Mars to conquer. Only one thing was real: red, hot passion, and she had only one ambition.

She groaned as he entered her over and over. Before he could establish a good rhythm, she felt her internal combustion system building to a new pinnacle, one she had never known. “Sooo big,” she purred. There were the sounds of sex, slapping and squishing. There was the smell of sex, pungent scents. There was the vision of sex, abject lust imaged behind closed eyelids.

“My God!” she squealed again as every feeling in her body rushed to one focal point. Her head went from side to side as she lifted his frame. “I’m there,” she whispered and then shouted,
“I’m there!”
The feeling was so intense she saw flashing, brilliant lights. She pushed so hard she feared she might lose him, but he held strong. Contorted in a huge spasm, she groaned, “Ga, Ga, oh Gawd!”

“Nung, uuungh,” prehistoric sounds spewed from above.

She wanted to say his name, but she was suddenly confused.
Who? Lazer? No. Who? Oh yeah, Michael
.
“Michael!”
she screamed as her entire body shot to the moon and slowly drifted back toward earth.

He fell on her in a dead heap. No one moved; no one said a word. The moment was to be savored, not analyzed.
Don’t think Christina, don’t think,
she begged herself. The truth was, she was incapable of thinking. Her mind went blank as her whole body pulsed with involuntary tics. Michael was heavy but warm against the cold cabin air. She prayed he wouldn’t move. The sheer exhaustion of the past twenty-four hours washed over her like a tidal wave, and she tumbled into a deep, deep sleep.

Chapter Ten

A warm, cozy feeling engulfed her, the simple and wonderful essence of childhood. She was sitting on the edge of the counter helping her mother. Mommy was young and beautiful and so full of life. The mixer whirred, and the chocolate dotted dough looked yummy. Mommy took a spoon and filled it, handing her a gooey snack. Neither spoke. They didn’t have to. It was the silent Karma of a thousand generations. It said she would grow up one day and have her own children, so she should learn how to bake cookies. It’s what women did, create sweet things and make people happy. Mommy smiled and bent down to take a sheet out of the oven. Mmmm, a smell like no other, one she would never forget as long as she lived. It was the smell of hot, chocolate chip cookies. She had never been so happy.

She twisted around to reach for her milk and slipped off the counter head first into a river of blackness. Panic seized her chest as she fell, twisting and turning, tumbling through space. She reached out and clawed at the air, but there was nothing to grab. All she could do was scream, “Heeelp meee!”

Christina jumped with a start. Her heart pounded, but she didn’t know why. She peeled herself away from Michael and crawled around and gathering bits of apparel. Her dreams were a blur, but she had a strange craving for chocolate.

“Wow, I wonder who lost their mind and threw these clothes all over the place,” she chuckled.

Michael began to stir. “Damn, my butt’s about to freeze off, gotta get the heat cranked up in here.” He got up buck-naked and began moving about putting his shirt back on.

“So is there anything to drink in this joint?” she said staring at his crotch. “I could use a stiff one.”

“A stiff one?” he laughed. “Yeah, there used to be a fully stocked liquor cabinet. . .over there. Looks like my uncle has just about everything covered. What would you like?” Michael walked across the room to the huge wet-bar, squatted down and opened the cabinet.

All kinds of confusing thoughts flew through her mind, and she was getting a headache. There were too many issues to think about. Her whole body ached, and she just wanted to shut down the senses.

“You got it, ma’am. Good idea, I’ll have one too.”

She thought the fire was so inviting with the smell of burning wood. She sat in a big cushy chair. As the cabin heat came up she finally relaxed.
Definitely time to unwind,
she thought as she looked at the scotch. She almost never drank hard liquor, especially on the rocks. After a deep breath she took a stiff drink and let it burn all the way down her gullet. It was smooth but very strong, and she struggled not to choke.
Wow!
The numbing feeling was almost instantaneous, and suddenly she was warm both inside and out. She took another drink, and the problems of the world started floating away.
Ahhh
. A blanket of calm came over her; she laid her head back and studied the surroundings. It was a beautiful cabin, very homey and extremely well decorated. There were stuffed ducks and fish, the overall appearance quite manly. But the art, colors and trim struck her as feminine.
Definitely has the touch of a woman. I wonder who?

“Is your uncle married?” Christina asked. “This place is really fixed up nice.”

“No, he’s single, but he was dating an interior decorator, and she did it for him a few years back. It’s a great place to visit, and there’s a boat in the private dock fully equipped for fishing. I might get a look at that in the morning.”

“But what about General Wallace and. . .”

“Wait!” he cut her off extending a hand as though he were directing traffic. “I have a suggestion. Let’s try to forget all the shit we’re in for at least twelve hours. We’re perfectly safe here; no way anyone can track us down after all that maneuvering. Let’s just enjoy the evening. We can get more serious about plans tomorrow.”

The alcohol took control, and the room started a slow spin. She was incapable of debate. “Okay,” she sighed. “I don’t have a clue how we’ll sort out this mess, but it might do us good to clear our heads for a few hours. Look, there’s a Scrabble game; why don’t we play some Scrabble and then go to bed.”

“We can’t go to bed in the middle of the day.”

“Why not, I’m exhausted,” she answered.

“Wait just one minute; you’re a woman right?” He looked completely clueless. “Don’t you want to discuss all the nuances of what we just did? You know, our relationship? Where it’s been, where it’s going and all that crap women find so fascinating?”

“Relationship-malationship,” she slurred. “All I know is we’re in this shit-hole together, and it’s bigger than the both of us. I don’t want to talk about strings and commitments or any other such nonsense, so let’s just leave it at that. Okay?”

“I got a better idea, why don’t we finish our drinks and go find the master bedroom. Scrabble is for old people.”

She laughed and raised her glass. “God, Michael, this is damn good Scotch.” She stared at him with a big grin, held up her drink and toasted, “Cheers.”

* * *

Muztata al-Bolani was never comfortable with the godless Russians, but he knew an alliance would be necessary once the U.S. was immobilized. After a direct nuclear strike in five major cities, the U.S. economy would be shattered, and world oil markets would suffer. Once the speculation bubble burst, he estimated demand for oil in America would drop some 20%, and oil prices would tumble to $150. An expensive venture but nonetheless worthwhile, a small price to pay for Islam.

Vatamir Golastiv, the ruling head of the Communist Party, had invited al-Bolani to Moscow to complete a secret pact which had been negotiated over two years. Within the realm of insiders it was touted as the “Oil for Nukes Pact.” Russia saw an opportunity to regain its position of parity with the US while putting a spike in the heart of China. A preemptive nuclear strike on Hong Kong and Beijing would set back previously unbridled growth by some twenty years. With China making moves as a new world leader, Russia was desperate to take action. If Iran was willing to attack the great monster of capitalism in the West, Russia could defeat, once and for all, its own, internal movement toward capitalism and revert to Communist rule.

In return for the Iranian thrust, Golastiv had agreed to commit for the direct purchase of half of all Iranian production at $150 a barrel. It seemed a bargain for the Russians, but offered a floor for Iran, should prices collapse. With the U.S. and China on their knees, Communist Russia would once again thrive, and Iran would rise to prominence over Iraq. Ancient Mesopotami, land between the rivers, along with the jewel of Jerusalem would soon belong to Iran. Without the U.S. for defense, all the former USSR satellite countries would be easy pickings. Both parties were highly motivated and enthusiastic about the partnership.

It was a cold afternoon in Moscow, and a light snow was falling in Red Square as the two leaders strolled through the park. Flanked by security, the two men were anxious to seal the new agreement, a pact that would change the world.

“Vatamir, we must get together more often to talk of our future business relations. We rely on your missile technology for our military, and we have paid you billions for that. We can provide you with much expertise in oil and gas. Our ability is fast approaching the Saudis’.”

“We rely on your oil,” Golastiv laughed. “And we pay dearly also. How can we be sure your strike will be successful?”

“The same way we can be sure your attack in the East will bring down the Chinese heathens. With the collapse of America and China, so called freedom and capitalism will die a final death, and our two countries will dominate the world. There will be no resistance to the final extermination of Jews and Chechnyans. We will spread Islam, and you will spread Communism. It’s really just a matter of who controls the resources.”

“Oh, but it all sounds too good my friend,” Golastiv sighed. “But never forget, there are many potential flies in the ointment. I worry about the likelihood of a Cino-American bond to counter our plan. If those countries ever agree to work together, they would be formidable. You should be worried also. History carries many horrors. Remember what happened to the Japanese after Pearl Harbor.”

“That will never happen again, and the two cultures are incapable of forming an alliance. Too many ‘flies in the ointment’ as you say. It is clear the gutless Americans are doomed by their own infirmities, pleasure and greed. Like ancient Rome, they will fall from the sheer weight of their iniquity.”

“It is critical that we coordinate the attack, my friend. Since you rely on your Jihad 1 for precision targeting, we will operate from your control center in Sari. Our people will be there in two weeks time, and we will make ready for the December strike.” He laughed shaking his head. “As you wish the Americans a Merry Christmas, we will celebrate China’s Year of the Duck.”

Christina awoke confused.
Where the hell am I?
She had never before slept so hard or so long. It was a huge bed in the master bedroom, and the cabin was toasty warm. “Michael, where’s Michael?”
she gasped. There was dead silence as the events of the prior 48 hours began to recollect in her brain. One wall of the room was mostly glass, and all she could see was water and forest. It was a spectacular scene, and there were two deer, a buck and a doe, at the water’s edge getting their morning drink.
Damn, I’ve died and gone to heaven
, she thought.
Where is Michael?
She looked for a note and found a yellow pad on the nightstand. It wasn’t a note from Michael but a poem, hand written. It seemed strange indeed, a dark, maudlin read, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

The Point