The Unquenchable Thirst

By Michael John Howard

The President of the United State is in the final days of his second term in office. He should be packing his books and papers, getting ready to make way for his duly elected replacement. Instead, he has a plan that will let him hold onto the power and the trappings of the Oval Office for as long as he wants them.

All it will cost is the sacrifice of millions of American lives.

But that doesnt matter to him. He has a need to rule. He has a drive to control. He has The Unquenchable Thirst for power.

This Political Thriller shows how an unscrupulous Chief Executive could put himself in permanent control of the nation. While this is a book of fiction, it does raise disturbing possibilities of what could happen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 24, 2000
• ISBN: 9781469711614

Michael John Howard

Michael Howard is Computer Programmer, who adds his logical way of thinking to his imaginative writing. His other book, On The Head Of A Pin, is a novel about a journey of enlightenment.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Normally, on a Monday morning, at 10 o’clock, Art Fredrickson would not be found among normal people. Normally, he would be found at the bottom of what he refers to as a stinking hole in the desert. But today was different.

Today he was on vacation.

Today he and his wife, Ethyl, were playing the tourists along the Strip in Las Vegas.

Ok, sure, they were only a hundred miles from their home in Beatty, but at least Art was not at work.

In their 30-plus years of marriage, Art and Ethyl had traveled all over the world. Now, with both of them at age 55, they seemed to prefer short trips. Trips where they could be home by bedtime.

Short trips were easier on the wallet—no hotel rooms. They were easier on the nerves—no hanging out for hours in airports. They were easier all the way around.

Actually, this particular short trip was more than just their normal one-day jaunt to what Art liked to call Lost Wages. The Fredricksons were splurging. They were actually staying over night in at a hotel.

Well, ok, it was either that or drive down really early on Tuesday morning.

The real reason that Art and Ethyl had come to town was that Ethyl was going to fly out, at 1:05 on Tuesday morning, to visit their son, David, in Washington D.C.

Ethyl, having all the thriftiness of her Scottish ancestors, would only pay the lowest rate for airfare. That meant that she naturally bought herself a ticket on the red-eye flight.

Art, being the romantic of the two, had then suggested that they spend an extra day together. Sort of a third or fourth honeymoon, he had called it.

So here they stood, in front of the MGM Grand, waiting for a bus and holding hands, as they always did. Two young-at-heart lovers.

No, they had not stayed at the MGM. That was just where the bus stopped.

Instead, they had found the light left on for them, the evening before, at the Motel 6 just down the block. Ethyl has selected the accommodations too.

As they waited in the cool of an early January morning, Art found himself watching Ethyl, as she leaned out into the street, trying to catch a glimpse of the approaching bus.

He squeezed her hand gently. I sure do love you, lady.

Well, that’s good to know, she said turning quickly to him with a grin. I sure hope you’re not in the habit of spending your nights in motels with women that you don’t love. Or do you have another one lined up for after you put me on the plane?

The bus arrived and they got on.

As they sat down, he pretended to flip through pages in an imaginary address book.

Well, I had to check to be sure, but my dance card appears to be empty. he winked. If you want to postpone your trip and spend another night.

She laughed and pushed at him, as the bus pulled out into traffic. Sorry, you old lecher, but my ticket can’t be changed.

He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it.

I know. He said, with a sigh. I have to be back in my stinking hole tomorrow anyway.

Well, you won’t tell me what you do down there, she said sharply, then grinned, but you only have 10 more years to retirement. Then you can stay home and keep me happy for a living.

He beamed and rubbed his hands together. Now that’s a job I look forward to doing.

She patted his thigh. At least, then we can share our secrets with each other.

Art thought about that.

What a joy it would be when he has nothing to hide from Ethyl anymore, when he won’t be bound by the secrecy of his job from discussing his day with his only love.

Even now, he wished that he were free from that secrecy. He also wished that he were free from his job of 27 years, as Chief of Security at Area 28.

CHAPTER 2

Area 28 is much less glamorous than it’s legendary neighbor, Area 51.

Both are ultra secret government installations, but that’s where the similarity ends.

Area 51, as darned near everyone knows, is a top-secret, high-tech testing facility, popularly known as NeverLand. UFO fanatics love to sneak into Area 51 and it’s become a kind of badge of honor to be arrested for getting too close to it.

Area 28, on the other hand, isn’t popularly known as anything. It isn’t popular at all. That’s because nobody knows it’s there.

The whole facility consists of a small, purposely shabby white building, no bigger than a small motel room, fitted out with a guard desk, an elevator, and lots of security devices.

The exterior of the house looks like a misplaced motor lodge cabin, sitting next to a dirt road, in the middle of nowhere.

There are no power lines leading to the building—they are buried underground. There are no cars parked by the building—a crew bus picks up and delivers the staff to the café in Beatty, at the beginning and end of each shift.

At night, the lights inside the building are trapped by painted over windows, all views of the outside being provided by strategically hidden cameras.

Except for the regular visits by the nondescript, black crew van, nobody would have guessed that Area 28 was anything more than just a derelict ranch house, abandoned to heat and sun of Death Valley.

Why was it here then?

Area 28 is one of the United States Government’s 60, or so, high security facilities located in the desert of the Southwest. Like most of the other sites, and unlike number 51, Area 28 is simply an underground storage facility, consisting of the watch house, an elevator, and a vault.

The vault at Area 28, buried 150 feet down in the sand and rock, consists of six climate controlled, lead and steel walled closets, arranged along both sides of a hallway.

Each closet has it’s own triple-locking vault door, alarm system, and a self-destruct device. The latter feature consists of a super high temperature pyrotechnic device, designed to melt the contents of the vault, as well as the walls, door, floor, and ceiling, into an irretrievable and, more importantly, unrecognizable pool of metal. All of these devices are linked so that, should one be triggered, they would all go off together.

The elevator shaft is the only entrance to, or exit from, the vault. It, too, has a self-destruct device, also linked to the ones in the vault, which will collapse the shaft in on itself.

All of this elaborate security is monitored and controlled from the watch-house and from a central control facility, located somewhere under Nellis Air Force Base. There were also key controlled triggers for the self-destruct mechanism at each end of the hallway in the vault.

At most of the desert facilities, the items stored in the vaults do not officially exist. They either are too advanced for anyone to be allowed to know about them or, as at Area 28, they were officially destroyed years earlier.

It was in these highly secured storage areas that America placed anything that it wanted, or needed, to hide from anyone who did not have an absolute need to know.

In fact, most of the people guarding these facilities did not have such a need. Only the Chief of Security for each area knew what secret his site held.

It was the responsibility of the Chief of Security to train the other guards, continually monitor their readiness, and, if he either was commanded or felt the need to do so, set off the self-destruct devices. This last he was to do, no matter the cost to himself or his staff.

In reality, it was rare for anyone to even go down to the vault, except for a weekly check of the elevator or to change light bulbs. A clear view of every inch was visible on the TV cameras, so why bother.

CHAPTER 3

The view from Aspen, the presidential lodge at Camp David, was stunning. Sitting there, in a chair or a rocker, or even a wheel chair, was good for the soul. It was so peaceful.

At least it was that way for every other Chief Executive since FDR, but not for the current one.

No, as the most powerful leader in the world sat there, he didn’t have time to think about relaxation. He was too busy with his plans for the next month to go for a snowy horseback ride like Reagan would have done. He couldn’t stroll and play with his kids like Kennedy. He