Read Angels Mark (The Serena Wilcox Mysteries Dystopian Thriller Trilogy) Online
Authors: Natalie Buske Thomas
Angels Mark (The Serena Wilcox Mysteries Dystopian Thriller Trilogy) (18 page)
Aloud she said, “Besides wonderful? Well, I think someone should have said those things a long time ago. I’m glad
you
did. The only thing that surprises me is that you are second guessing yourself and seeking someone like me out for reassurance.”
“I didn’t use a speech writer. I feel insecure when I’ve gone forward without professionals crafting and editing my words.”
“Maybe you should do more of your own writing. What do writers know? Educated as they may, it’s still just one person’s opinion.”
“True. Being a rebel doesn’t sit comfortably on me. I was the girl whose report card said, ‘Ann is thoughtful of others. Ann is conscientious about her work and keeps a tidy desk.’ I suppose I need to get used to taking risks if I want to be a pioneer in this post-Big War world we live in.”
Serena said, “Again, I thought your address was wonderful, but you’re preaching to the choir. Besides, my views are probably too idealistic.”
“Better to be naive than jaded, like I mentioned before – most of us have given up on ever getting past our differences. I find your views refreshing.”
“I think it’s more like ‘view’, you’ve pretty much heard all of my thoughts.”
Ann chuckled.
“Seriously, I’m not a very political person. I don’t watch the news because I find it stressful and depressing. This is probably the most I’ve ever said in one sitting about anything political. I normally stay out of these conversations – I hate how anything about politics escalates into heated debate.”
“You don’t watch the news?
Never?”
“Sometimes, not never.
I know, I’m apathetic, but I don’t have any faith that staying informed is possible; I don’t believe what the media says about anything. And I don’t believe politicians either. Except for you. So, I’m sorry, but that’s all I’ve got. I don’t have anything else to say.”
Ann laughed, “I knew there was a reason why I liked you.”
2
4
President Ann Kinji waved her hand in front of the flat screen in front of her. Six hundred and seventy-nine Town Hall messages appeared. She prided herself on reading a sampling of these daily messages from American citizens every morning, after her fitness routine, and before breakfast, she skimmed through as many letters as she could in twenty minutes. She pointed at the screen to open the first message.
<
Thank you for reversing the direction of the previous administration regarding government control of food, private farms, supplements, etc. I have a child who has food sensitivities and I need control over where our food comes from. As much as I’d like to grow all our own food, that’s not realistic for me. The freedom to select natural foods that have not been restricted by government regulation is why I voted for you. I do have one issue though. You have taxed small farms and that higher cost is passed on to families like mine, but I’ll take that. I do appreciate the lifting of regulations.>>
Ann smiled. The issue of food regulation had been the bane of her existence for several months of heated debate with Congress, farming representatives, and the Food and Health Administration, among others. It was good to see that her work was appreciated. So far so good, today’s messages were positive. She opened another one.
<
I spell your name Kinki because you is Kinki
.>>
Ann laughed. There were always a few trolls in the mix, and this one seemed harmless. She swiped her finger in the air to delete the message and move on to the next one.
<
Ann had heard similar rhetoric before, backlash over her recent remarks about the changes to the Constitution after the Big War. For every three Americans who wanted a reunited America, there was at least one American who wanted the union to stay divided. History had, on some level, repeated itself: even though the union was split in two between
East and West, it was the North and the South that had a division. In general, the North wanted to reunite, while a growing number in the South wanted “less government”, believing it was better to stay separate.
She shook off her fears about a civil war, should she be successful in reuniting America. She moved on:
<
Ann chuckled, and then felt a twinge of guilt. This letter had a genuine voice to it. She selected “reply” and ignored the Identity Chip argument, which wasn’t Belinda’s real issue.
<
I’m sorry for the loss of your boyfriend. I know there is someone new in your future. Take good care of yourself, stay busy, volunteer to help others. You’ll meet the right man when you are not looking.
Sincerely, President Kinji>>
Ann glanced at the clock. She had enough time to read a few more messages. She skimmed through a collection of similar letters: cranks, critics, fans, and the occasional off-topic, but sometimes extremely articulate, political rant. She kept going until she heard an alert: a new message had been sent from a code red mailbox – President’s eyes only.
Ann blinked her eyes, daring the screen to show her the message. There it was, a code red. She opened the message.
<
<
<
<
<.>>
There was a shrill beep: line closed.
Ann shook her head.
What could this possibly be about?
She sat and stewed about it for a few minutes, and then went to one committee meeting after another. At the end of a very long day, she picked up the phone to call Serena and give her a head’s up.
Serena answered on the first ring.
“Serena? I know you’re having a grand time abroad, and I hate to interrupt, but a friend of mine will be meeting with you soon to give you a message for me.”
“Your friend has already found me, he’s standing right here.” Serena’s voice sounded stilted.
“But he’s no friend, not unless you want me dead.” And with that, the call was disconnected.
Covert Coffee
, Book Two of the Serena Wilcox Mysteries Dystopian Thriller Trilogy by
Natalie Buske Thomas
Read the e
xcerpt,
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Excerpt:
Chapter 1
President Kinji tucked her hair behind her ears, a fruitless gesture since her signature bob was cut too short for hair to stay tucked over her ear lobes. She picked up a pencil and began chewing on the eraser, something she hadn't done since she was a child. Completely unaware of what she was doing, or the stunned looks on her staff’s faces, she gnawed at the eraser until there was nothing left of it. Then she tossed the pencil back on the desk and formulated her thoughts. Finally, she spoke.
“So who’s getting Serena out of there?” she asked. It was unclear who she was addressing, so no one answered. Ann made eye contact with each of the five young people in the room. “Get me someone.”
No one moved.
Ann said, “Get me my husband.”
Everyone moved.
Ann surveyed the now-empty Oval Office. Could it be called Oval? The room had been built like a giant ice cube. She hated it. Hated, hated,
hated it. She hated everything inside the walls of the closed society known as the new White House: the walls of ivory, beige, cream, tan, sand, caramel and “linen”; the soaring modern-day-architectural cathedral ceilings that created a chill not unlike the dreary drafts felt by monks in centuries-old monasteries, but without the ethereal air; the gaudy display of wealth represented by insanely priced presidential pens and an office chair with hand-sewn upholstery worth $10,000; and most of all, the plastic people holding her sequestered in this prison.
What kept her sane were the regular coffee chats with her dear friend Serena Wilcox, someone who didn’t have a political bone in her body. Half the time, she didn’t even watch the news. She was outside of the fray, untainted by the dirty fingers of lobbyists and power-hungry star-climbers. She was a pure outsider of “The Cube”. Best of all, she was delightfully funny, unconventional, witty, and genuine. Ann had pushed hard for the friendship with Serena, as if Serena were a pet she adopted; needy and odd behavior coming from Ann, not Presidential in the slightest.
And now Ann had potentially killed her new pet. Too much affection can do that.
“It’s not your fault,” said Ted.
Ann moved away from her desk, where she had been glowering at a stack of ridiculously overpriced notepads. She had requested notepads due to her love-hate relationship with computerized planners and her lack of trust in any staffer to record her thoughts for her. Nonetheless, she despised the notepads. She could be using scratch paper like her Mom used to keep in the kitchen drawer by the phone – no need for her scribbles to take on such formality. Waste. No wonder the country was in such a mess.
“You have to know that you had nothing to do with this,” Ted tried again.
“You and I both know that if she was not a personal friend of the President, she wouldn’t be in this situation.”
Ted shrugged with the resignation that all long-time-married men know, and said something wise that few men would realize to be the best answer for this situation and many others: “What do you want me to say?”
Ann mirrored Ted’s shrugging and said, “I don’t know. But while we stand here talking, Serena could be dead.”
“We know the threat is credible?” asked Ted.
“I spoke to her myself. It came from Serena’s own lips. Yes, credible.”
Ted whistled; a low steady tone he had rehearsed to perfection.
Ann cringed. His “whistle of drama” got under her skin. She cracked every knuckle on both of her hands. Then Ted promptly did the same. We’ve been married too long, she thought. She smiled.
“What? You have an idea?”
“No,” said Ann, “Just thinking that I’m glad you are here.”
“Me too.
Is her husband with her?”
“I don’t know. Tom and the kids were with her, but he was there for business. He could have been at work. The kids were probably with her though. I don’t know anything, just guessing.”
“What business does he have in Germany?”
“He works civil service now. He’s there as support to a Guard unit that’s over there on a routine two-week annual deployment.”
“We’re still doing that? Even with the bases over there closed?”
“Not all are closed. And yes, we are still doing that. Serena went with him to vacation, to show the kids all the famous hot spots in Europe.”
“Any reason to suspect this is about what Tom is doing?”
“No, this is all me. Remember my driver Penny?”
“The one who wants to be a lawyer?”
“Yes. She sent me an e-mail right before this happened. She wanted to talk to someone I could trust, someone outside of The Cube.”
“And you told her to talk to Serena?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, I see.”
“What is taking them so long?” Ann glanced at the mammoth screen on the wall: no new activity. She stared at it for a few seconds, willing it with her mind to change. And it did. She and Ted raced to the center of the sensor range. Ted gestured for the menu to appear.
They read the simple message from Agent Donnelly: <
Ann raised two fingers in the air to signal the
livestream function. She raised her voice even though it was sufficient to speak in normal conversational tones; she just couldn’t quite get used to not having a phone at her ear while speaking over a connection. “Agent Donnelly, you there?”
“Yes, Madam President.”
“She’s gone then? What about her husband? The kids?”
“He is with us now, and the kids.”
“Where were they? They weren’t with Serena?”
“They were at the library.”
“On the base?”
“Yes.”
“So Serena was alone then? They got her at home?”
“Yes and yes. No trace.
Sorry, Madam President.”
“Nothing at all?”
“They are sweeping the apartment now, but they aren’t optimistic.”
“I understand.” Ann looked at Ted’s face for any sign that he had an idea of what to do next. He didn’t. After a long pause she resumed conversation. “Stay with Tom and the kids. Let me know if anything happens.”
“Yes, Madam President.”
“And Agent Donnelly?”
“Yes?”
“This is covert – me, you, Ted, and your team. That’s it. Got it?”
“Yes, Madam President.”
“Donnelly, your team is need-to-know.”
“Understood.”
“Follow protocol, but report to no one but me for now.”
“We have a name for this operation?”
“Call it Covert Coffee.”
