The Boiling Point

By Todd Werdebaugh

When the U.S. Government admits to the genocide of the minority population it
results in a complete restructuring of America. Minorities form their own
government and once again, America is torn along racial lines.

Fifty years later, a prosperous minority population is again faced with the deaths
of thousands of innocent people, the result of biological warfare.

Representatives from each government, Robin Patrick and Brevin Harper, are
assigned the responsibility of investigating the mysterious deaths.

As they begin their investigation their racial distrust of one another quickly
surfaces.

When a complex plot to infest the water supply of the minority government is
discovered, it is up to Robin and Brevin to put aside their differences and stop the
plan before millions more are killed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 21, 2004
• ISBN: 9781418410278

Todd Werdebaugh

Todd is a regional sales manager with a large movie studio. His wife, 2 dogs and a cat all live in the Pacific Northwest. Todd graduated from the University of Oregon, where he majored in political science and studied writing. His unique imagination has allowed him to develop endearing characters and an intriguing foresight into the direction our country could be heading. The Boiling Point is filled with aspects of terrorism, political intrigue, and the fragile state of international affairs, all of which relate to our times. The Boiling Point is the kind of novel that can impact the way people view the future of the United States.

Book preview

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 10

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

About The Author

To my parents, Art and Shirley, whom I love and admire. To Heidi, who had the faith that I could do it.

To Laurel, who read my very first and very rough first draft.

And to my wonderful wife, Kate, whose hard work, love, patience and encouragement made this book possible. And who never once complained when I vanished into my imagination.

PROLOGUE

(Washington D C. / June 27, 2009)

Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States.

President Warren Michael Reed stepped up to the podium. As the first president of African-American heritage, President Reed was used to the careful stares that seemed to follow him as his six-foot, four-inch frame stepped behind the podium.

Today there were even more than the normal number of eyes fixed upon him, and he knew that millions more were watching from TV land. America was at a standstill and he knew it. Only the Lord knew how he and his advisors had spent more than enough time on the speech he was about to give-trying to make sure the wording was just right.

But it didn’t matter. America had been sold a lie, and there were no carefully chosen words that would soften the blow he was about to expose to the nation, the truth.

Thank you, Katherine, President Reed said to the pretty brunette who had introduced him. He turned toward the camera. The people of the press waited with anticipation and very little knowledge of what this hastily called press conference was all about. The Executive Office of the United States Government had actually done an uncommonly outstanding job putting the lid on any leaks. President Reed knew with information this sensitive, there could be no other way.

He surveyed the room for just a brief moment, and allowed his gaze to linger on the teleprompter. Maybe if he just read the words, didn’t think about them, as he delivered the speech, the information he was about to reveal to the world wouldn’t be so ghastly.

My fellow Americans, he said, as the first of what would be many droplets of sweat began to trickle from his closely-cropped hair, gently tickling his mocha-colored temple.

He allowed himself a single deep breath. That was easy. Been there, done that. Now the hard part.

Last night it was brought to my attention that America has been at war. Do not be alarmed by these words, because the battle we have been fighting has not been with another nation, but with ourselves. In the past you have heard me, like so many of my predecessors before me, declare a war against drugs. This has been a challenge within this country’s boundaries that has, at times, seemed to be an impossibly daunting mission. Last night, I found out why.

The remains of his earlier deep breath seeped slowly from his lips. As some of you have already heard, last night Colonel Jacob Walker, former director of the Central Intelligence Agency, lost his long and courageous battle with another enemy that has touched every American in one way or another. At approximately 10:20 p.m., Colonel Walker died from complications arising from cancer. Reed allowed himself of the luxury of another deep breath. His eyes darted from those of one reporter to another. He knew this moment in American history would be the last of its kind. Not certain of what his next words would bring, he was sure of one thing. In the next few moments the powder keg would be lit.

All right, here it comes. Just say it, and get the hell back to your bunker, he thought.

Before he passed away, Colonel Walker made a confession to myself, and news journalist Darrell Simms. Due to the sensitive nature of Colonel Walker’s confession, I will only briefly go into the details-waiting until we are all better informed. I have designated a task force that has already begun to investigate these allegations, and I give you my word that we shall fight to rectify all the wrongs that may have been created.

The members of the media began to buzz with anticipation. Get to the point, he told himself, before their imaginations run wild. That’s a funny thought, what I’m about to tell them is worse than ninety-nine percent of anything they could imagine.

We have been fighting a losing war against drugs. He exhaled. We now know why. Colonel Walker confessed to personally overseeing the infiltration of crack cocaine, cocaine, heroin, and marijuana into those areas of the United States heavily populated with blacks, Hispanics, and other minorities.

The words flew rapid-fire from President Reed’s lips. The crowd exploded. Hands shot in the air, voices shouted out questions. Even the television cameramen were so shocked by what they were hearing, they allowed their cameras to drift downward.

You anticipated this, Reed reminded himself. Just finish the speech, and get the hell out of here. There will be a time to answer questions later-when you have all the facts.

I must state, as a matter of record, Colonel Walker claimed he was not acting on orders from the United States government. Reed continued. It appears he took advantage of his influence and power to construct, and carry out, his own personal agenda.

Half of the room was no longer listening. Please, I ask that you hold all questions at this time. You can expect a follow-up press conference tomorrow, at which time we will release more information. For now, I simply ask that, as Americans, we do not react at this time. He paused.

Remain calm. As a nation united, we will meet this challenge. I implore that as a national community, we do not overreact-nor do we riot.

This statement would certainly have the opposite effect of his intention. He thought he told them to take it out of his speech.

I ask that we all unite at this time, and wait patiently until we have determined what our next steps will be to right this horrific wrong that has been committed against our country. Remember, what you do unto the least of my people, you do unto me.

That was the campaign theme stolen straight from the Bible that he had used to gain his first term in office. It had been so effective in the past. Now, it just sounded corny.

Mr. President! Mr. President! members of the media barked.

President Reed ignored the questions bombarded at him, and made his way between the folds in the curtain leading away from the press area.

Katherine approached him with a clipboard in her hand. She was saying something to him, but he wasn’t listening. What did it matter? He knew it. She knew it. The whole damn country knew it.

The United States of America would never be the same again.

**********

The day President Warren Reed addressed the nation about covert activities practiced by the Central Intelligence Agency was the day the United States of America began a new journey in its history.

When informed about an issue most people thought existed only in the nightmares of the self-described oppressed minorities, the United States went through massive changes. These changes transformed the country from a unified land, to one with a monstrous division.

No longer was America an example of ethnic diversity and cultural variation, living under one government. When citizens of the United States were informed a government agency had misused its power to ensure the oppression of a large number of Americans, change was not only unavoidable, it was demanded.

The greatest legacy bestowed on the memory of President Warren Reed in the history books was his ability to govern a country that was at one time striving for unity, to one that suddenly required separation.

After his address to the nation, President Reed braced the country for the riots he and most of America were certain would rock the streets of the ghettos, and beyond.

Instead, his fears were met only with silence and tears. It was as if the culmination of the years of voicing their concerns, of fighting against those who had encumbered them, had left the minority population speechless.

These citizens seemed to be without the strength or the desire to express themselves through protests and demonstrations. No single minority group was affected greater than the African-American race, the CIA’s true target. They were no longer an empty voice crying out for justice. It was as if, for the first time, their claims had been verified, eliminating the need to riot in order for their voice to be heard.

Instead they waited, along with all of the other minorities of America; the Asians, the Native Americans, the Mid-Easterners, and the Hispanics. They all waited for the change they knew must come about.

And change, America did. The years following that fateful day in 2001 saw a transformation of the United States that was perhaps long overdue. It became certainly unavoidable, given the circumstances.

No longer able to trust the government with even the slightest confidence, the minorities of America banded together, and demanded a political and judicial arena of their own. Unable to deny the logic of this request, President Reed set up a new wing of the government and

titled it the Government for Diverse Americans. This government was made up of minority officials, voted into office via hastily-organized elections.

These elections allowed only the participation of minority citizens, the end result being a government chosen by minorities for the sole purpose of restoring them to acceptable levels of power and influence. Within months, a program was in place with one priority and one priority only; to create a level playing field for all Americans.

Over the next decade, federal funds were dispersed to build schools and revitalize the ghettos of America, turning once dismal neighborhoods into blooming communities. Drug users who found themselves addicted, whether or not it was due to the CIA’s operation or not, were given the opportunity to seek medical help. An amazing number did.

Business loans were given to those who wanted to provide services within the newly re-created communities. People of ethnic backgrounds were given grants to attend college. Programs were created to aid those who had learned to depend upon the government for economic assistance. The objective was to learn to rely upon themselves, and their minority brothers and sisters.

By the year 2025, America was a land of thriving communities and peaceful neighborhoods. Though more people occupied the land between its boundaries, America’s crime was cut in half. Aided by the new construction boom that the rebuilding of the inner cities and ghettos had created, unemployment decreased substantially. In a way, after centuries of civic strife and tense relations, things seemed to be almost perfect.

But they weren’t. The scars left by the CIA’s actions were of tremendous depth and proportion. To some it was a hypothetical scar. To many others, it was very tangible. As the minority communities banded together, their distrust of white America grew greater.

It was not enough that they had their own government. They needed more security against something like the CIA’s activities happening again. So, they boycotted white-owned businesses, and spent their money only at minority-owned establishments. When minorities began to build their own manufacturing plants and their own factories, the boycott included products produced at white-owned plants and factories as well. Soon, white-owned businesses began to

go bankrupt, plants and factories had to be shut down. These businesses were quickly snatched up by minority-owned enterprises.

However, none of these events had the greatest or most sever impact on American history. The most caustic part of the transition, the part that signaled no turning back for the people of America, came with what would forever be known as The Mighty Migration.

No longer able to succeed in the local business markets, those people located in largely minority-occupied communities had to take their businesses elsewhere to simply remain solvent.

The greatest region affected was the southern half of America. As word spread that a white man couldn’t make a living in the Southern states, the word spread equally fast a person of minority stature could prosper greatly in the Southern regions, thus the largest migration in American history began to take place.

Over the next quarter century, the complexion of America began to change in a way no one had anticipated. Encouraged by the opportunities in larger minority communities, millions of minority families relocated from the northern half of America to the south. Discouraged by racial tension and the inability to make a good living, millions of white families migrated to the northern states.

Within fifty years of President Reed’s public address, America had become a fully segregated country, if not officially, certainly in reality. As if by a giant scar, the United States was cut in two, split directly across the middle.

Lost in all of the transition was the advancement of technology. No longer moving at the breakneck speeds that had become its trademark in the twentieth century, technology was perhaps the area of America that had the most devastating impact on the rest of the world.

Instead, faced with high costs and an unstable work force, most companies were forced to conserve their resources in order to just stay afloat, bringing the modern age of communication to a screeching standstill in the hopes that things would gear back up in the near future. But it never did.

No longer simply a wing of the United States government, the government that served the Southern, or minority states of America, was given full power of authority over California, Hawaii, Texas, Nevada, Arizona, Missouri, New Mexico, Colorado, Kansas,

Oklahoma, Arkansas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, South Carolina, Tennessee, Kentucky, North Carolina and Florida.

Soon these states become independent from the original fifty and became known as the South United States of America (SUSA). The land of North America that was once simply titled the United States of America now required two names. The twenty-nine states of Alaska, Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Utah, Montana, Iowa, Wisconsin, Michigan, Illinois, Maryland, Indiana, Nebraska, North Dakota, South Dakota, Massachusetts, Ohio, Virginia, West Virginia, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Minnesota, Connecticut, Vermont, Rhode Island, New Hampshire, New York, New Jersey, and Maine became the North United States of America (NUSA).

Together the two divisions were referred to by outside countries as simply America. But the rest of the world realized it was a vastly changed world power.

The South United States had its own elected President and Vice President, House of Representatives, Congress and Senate. Both governments were still required to follow the guidelines set up by the Bill of Rights and the original United States Constitution. No changes could be made or amendments added unless both countries of America agreed to abide by the changes.

There was still only one military that served all the states, and it was as ethnically diverse as it had been before the changes to the rest of the country took place. The major difference was the military now answered to two commanders in chief, instead of one.

Though it was feared by some this new military would be dysfunctional; the peace treaties in the Middle East, and the nuclear disarmament agreement between China and the Americas, the world had entered a century of relative peace. The new system had yet to be put to test.

Aside from the military, only one other shared resource in America existed: water. By the year 2052, changes in the ozone layer and increases in the population left much of America without suitable drinking water.

Though the water supply was sufficient for individuals to do laundry, water their lawns, and do various other tasks, the availability of drinking water free of toxins was limited.

This led to a huge boom in the bottled water business, which was controlled largely by four white-American-owned companies. They were the Great Lakes Water, Inc., Silver Falls Spring Water, Inc., Blue Sky Bottling and Krystal Water Company.

Only Great Lakes and Krystal had the capacity to access water from Arctic glaciers, transform it into purified bottled drinking water, and ship it to all corners of America while still retaining a profit. Blue Sky, Silver Falls, and the handful of other bottled water companies were content to sell their water on a local scale to the northern states.

The potential for a monopoly by Krystal Water and Great Lakes had cultivated concern among the South United States of America’s leaders, leading them to request action be taken to protect their domestic interests. It was decided the North United States government would award a contract to a selected water company in April, 2054.

The contract would designate the chosen company as the main provider of water to the SUSA, providing water at an agreed-upon set cost that would still allow the company to make a tidy profit. The intention of this contract would be to eliminate the chance of prices rising to uncontrolled heights, and the exploitation of the SUSA’s greater dependency on the larger companies for suitable drinking water.

Because only Great Lakes Water, Inc. and Krystal Water Company had the capacity or the interest to supply water to the SUSA region, they both eagerly awaited the contract to be awarded, fully aware the recipient would gain a financial windfall.

All this tumultuous change caused smaller ripples of change, like those from a stone piercing the clear glass surface of a lake. But greater changes in the makeup of America’s population were yet to come. By the year 2054, the country that had once been affectionately known as a melting pot had somehow transformed into a country more closely resembling a vessel left unattended on a hot burner.

And in the year 2054, that pot was going to boil.

CHAPTER 1

(Washington D C. / Tuesday, April 3, 2054 / 8:00 a.m.)

Robin Patrick almost forgot to knock on the door before barging through. Although she had never actually lived in the house, she had spent enough time there during her semester breaks at Harvard, and the summer before she went off to Wharton, for the mansion to feel comfortably familiar. Not that the White House could entirely feel comfortable to anyone.

Dressed in a black business suit and white blouse, Robin had chosen her conservative outfit carefully to downplay her obvious beauty. As a high-ranking government official, she was sensitive to being taken seriously.

Brushing a strand of chestnut-colored hair from her forehead, she reminded herself she was attending a professional meeting. Lately, she had been involved in these types of conferences on an ever-increasing frequency. No one held greater respect for her father than did she. Sometimes, especially if she was distracted as she was now, she would still think she was an ordinary daughter going to visit her ordinary father at his office.

But there was nothing ordinary about her dad being the President of the North United States, nor was there anything ordinary about her position as the National Security Advisor of the North United States.

After rapping gently on the door with the back of her delicate hand, Robin waited patiently for an invitation to enter her father’s office, but none came. She knew he was probably on an important phone call, so she prepared to push the door open and poke her head in. As if reading her thoughts, the door began to move away from her. The chiseled face of Raymond Murphy, her father’s chief of staff, met her stare as the door floated open.

Hello, Ray, Robin said politely as she passed by the chief of staff as quickly as possible. She felt as she always did when she was around Murphy-afraid if she lingered too long in his personal space, she would shudder noticeably.

A handsome man, tall with an athletic build, and styled hair that was licorice black and just beginning to turn silver along the temples,

Raymond Alexander Murphy had been chosen People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive two years in a row.

Robin could understand this, given Ray’s appearance, bachelor status and position of power, but to her he seemed, somehow, creepy. Especially when his eyes seemed to linger on her for a moment too long. They were eyes the writer for the magazine described as electric blue. But at this moment their unwanted focus on her made them appear seem almost as black as a raven’s.

Good morning, Robin, Murphy said in a smooth voice. I apologize for the delay. Your father and I were going over some other business, and it took us a little longer than expected.

A quick glance around the room told Robin if anyone else had been meeting with her father and Ray, they had left by the main entryway to the Oval Office. She had used the side entrance as always, and wondered if now was the time to start approaching her father in a manner equal to the rest of the cabinet members. She would bring this up with him later.

Robin was daddy’s little girl through and through. The same strength of relationship did not apply to Robin and her mother’s relationship, however. Robin felt no affection to her mother. They had not spoken in years. Regardless of this small inconvenience, Robin’s parents still managed to appear happily married to the rest of the world.

John Tyler Patrick, the President of the North United States of America, sat behind an enormous desk, his eyes focused squarely on the papers sprawled in front of him.

He had the rugged good looks of an actor in an old Western movie, and an air about him that reflected both his power and gentleness. It was the latter that showed in his soft brown eyes when he finally looked up from his desk.

Hi, Honey. When did you get here? President Patrick asked, his face beaming, as it always did whenever his daughter made an appearance in his office.

Robin did not give him the daughterly peck on the cheek she knew he was expecting. She had decided it was time to start treating her father as other members of his cabinet did-at least when they were discussing government business.

I arrived a few minutes ago, she answered, seeking out an empty seat in the circular office, but remaining on her feet.

Did you say hello to your mother? I told her you were coming, and she was hoping you...

Not today, Dad, Robin interrupted, a bit annoyed at her father for bringing her up mother in the conversation with Ray in the room. If she was going to appear as something other than her father’s daughter she needed her dad on board with the idea to help her succeed. After this meeting I have to catch a shuttle in time to give a luncheon speech at Harvard Law School. From there, well, I have my choice between a bazillion and one things.

The edge in Robin’s voice when she talked about her mother had been there since she was eighteen, but it never failed to bring a look of disappointment to her father’s face.

President Patrick’s eyes registered his blighted hope. Sure, I understand. I’ll let her know it wasn’t a good day for you. Maybe another time?

A leader of so many people, it was still difficult for Robin to see him as anything but the gentle-hearted father who had taught her to bait a fishhook, and appreciate literature. If he hadn’t become absorbed with the political arena at such a young age, he surely would have given her a brother or sister. But his whirlwind political career had reduced Robin’s hopes for a sibling to a childhood fantasy.

Maybe I’ll see her next week, Robin reassured. She adjusted the cuffs on her blouse in a manner that suggested she was here only on business. Now, you said you had something important to discuss with me.

Why don’t you take a seat, Robin, Murphy said, sitting down in a leather parson’s chair to the left of the president’s desk and snapping open his brief case. Mr. President, I think we can get started.

Robin sat down on the yellow print sofa opposite from Ray’s position in the room. It wasn’t just coincidence she chose the piece of furniture farthest from Murphy.

The morning greetings obviously over, all three of them quickly made the transition from small talk to business without missing a beat.

President Patrick was the first to speak, his hand lightly tapping a Mont Blanc pen on a yellow legal pad on his desktop. The paternal twinkle in his eye was replaced by a steely gaze. It was apparent to all parties in the room that he had made the transition from father to commander in chief in the blink of an eye. Robin, how familiar are you with Reverend Rashad Abdul?

Robin hid her surprise at the chosen topic. Reverend Rashad Abdul, leader of the Black Extremist movement? Robin paused to gather her thoughts before continuing. He is a self proclaimed leader in the Nation of Islam, though his commitment to that faith has always been questioned.

He reached prominence and influence in the year 2046. The last five years it appears his followers have been shrinking in number. Suspected to be behind several terrorist threats against the white states, most notably the bombing of the hotel suite of Vice President Conroy in Sacramento, California in August of last year. No one was injured, and there was no proof of Abdul’s involvement, only speculation. He’s considered a black radical who is capable of orchestrating severe acts of violence to gain support for his agenda.

And what is that agenda? Murphy asked.

It depends on who you ask, Robin replied, feeling more comfortable with the topic. According to Abdul, it’s one of peace where, and I quote, ‘all my black brothers and sisters will be awarded their just compensation for the acts of insane trespasses committed against their ancestors and family members in past decades.

Very good, President Patrick acknowledged, the Mont Blanc continuing its rhythmic tapping. He was obviously impressed with his daughter’s familiarity on the subject. And the other possible agenda?

A good many people think-and with that I mean both white and minority leaders-Abdul is an overzealous, greedy manipulator whose only agenda is to further his financial and political status at any cost.

And your opinion? Murphy asked.

My opinion? She leaned back in the sofa. I think he is a walking time bomb who shares more similarities with Hitler than Elijah Mohammed.

Robin was surprised at the level of conviction in her voice.

President Patrick stood up from his desk, and moved to the window. At fifty-seven he remained in excellent physical shape, and moved with the grace of an athlete. With his back to the room he took a moment to let Robin’s appraisal settle. Robin, we would tend to agree with you, maybe not to the extreme of your comparison with Hitler, but we believe Abdul is dangerous.

President Patrick pivoted from the window and turned to face the room. Ray, what do you think our position is?

Murphy looked down at a folder that was spread out on his lap. For right now what we want to do. He stopped in mid-sentence. "No, what we need to do is find out exactly what Abdul’s agenda is. No speculation. If his only intentions are to create a few angry sentiments toward past relationships between whites and minorities, well then he’s just wasting a lot of peoples’ time. All that will be done, and all that needs to be done, has been carried out in regard to rectifying the sins of our forefathers against minorities."

Ray leaned back in the chair. However, if Abdul is not content with the state his black brothers and sisters are in, then maybe he should focus more on gaining support for that movement. From everything we’ve heard, everybody is pretty content with the way both halves of this country are being run.

What Ray is saying, Robin, the president interjected, not sounding the least bit fatherly in his explanation, is there is a probability Abdul is, indeed, simply a black radical intent on spreading his sermon of malcontent and anger. This is not a new problem in America, nor is it one that will ever cease to exist. Certainly free speech is the one thing that has not failed to change since that man, he pointed toward a portrait of George Washington, one of several portraits of past presidents that adorned the oval office’s walls, held the position I hold today.

I’m not sure what my role is in all this, Robin said, her brow wrinkling.

Murphy leaned toward her. We have an assignment for you, and it involves Abdul.

What is the assignment? Robin hid her excitement. So far her first four months as National Security Advisor had involved mostly educating and re-educating herself with the history of the past century, and the infrastructure of the North United States of America

and its government. Something different-anything-would be welcomed at this point.

She had found the four months of public service almost dull when compared with her three years at law school, and two more at the Wharton School of Business. But it was her 3 years at the FBI academy in Quantico, Virginia that had nurtured her yearning for excitement. During those years she had to learn to thrive under stress, and now she found she craved it like a junkie.

The president continued, slowly pacing behind his desk, the Mont Blanc still moving rhythmically in his fingers. First, let me continue with Abdul. What we know about him is actually very little, when you eliminate rumors, and focus solely on facts. He is well educated, with a doctorate in human relations from Grambling, and a law degree from Rice University. At the time his name was Marcus Wallace. He was married, but is now a widow. We know almost nothing about his wife, except that she died of ovarian cancer when she was only twenty-eight.

Robin frowned. Ovarian cancer? That has an almost ninety-four percent survival rate.

Patrick shrugged his shoulders. "I guess she was part of the six percent. Perhaps she didn’t have the luxury of today’s medical advancements in that area. Either way, since no foul play was involved it is not an issue.

Wallace converted to the Muslim faith, changed his name to Rashad Abdul, and began preaching the Islamic faith. Soon he was very prominent within the black community, especially young black males, and he used his influence to gain support for some of his agendas. Most of these were very beneficial to the black community. Things like improved libraries, better school programs for the adult males who had still not benefited from the federally funded business and housing programs. Mainly humanitarian efforts, really.

Didn’t he start an education program at the University of Tennessee and San Diego State for troubled youth? Robin asked, remembering reading about such programs while in undergraduate school at Harvard.

Yes, he did-and they were all very successful. A lot of what Abdul accomplished was good-very good-and we applaud him for that.

Murphy’s face lit up at this comment. But it’s his activities now that have us concerned. He uncrossed his legs and sat up rigidly in his chair. "Abdul’s ego is like an animal with a insatiable appetite, and when it’s not being fed, the animal becomes angry-even aggressive. Abdul has been losing support for years, and people are growing tired of his messages filled with anger and hostility.

They’re bored with his suspicions of the ‘Great White Threat’ because they no longer are forced to deal with us on a day-to-day basis. If someone wants to, they can go through everyday life without conducting any business with a white person. So they see his threats of impending doom at the hands of the white people as well, a lot of hot air.

And so you think Abdul’s ego has made him an aggressive animal, to use your analogy, Ray? Robin asked, not sure what to think of Murphy’s analogy.

Well, Robin, President Patrick said, we aren’t sure what to think. But if you put yourself in Abdul’s shoes, you begin to wonder. He’s spent half his life rallying people around him based upon the impending threat of violence by an outside force. This threat has never materialized, and because of that, no one really pays a lot of attention to what he says any more. It might be easy for him to become disillusioned.

Especially if you are not playing with a full deck, Murphy added.

Robin eyed Murphy suspiciously, trying to get a read on her father’s chief advisor. He was handsome, she supposed, maybe too handsome with his thin nose, and high cheekbones. But there was something behind his eyes, something she couldn’t quite pinpoint.

So what you’re implying is Rashad Abdul is not the most stable person, Robin said.

We have reports he is becoming, shall we say, somewhat of a loose cannon, Murphy answered coyly.

And you want me to find out when he’s going to explode?

Her father came around his desk. She could tell he was struggling with the temptation to put his arm around her as he gave her his explanation. They had often walked that way through the halls of the governor’s mansion in Illinois-his arm holding her, as he explained some deep political theory.

Robin’s mind flashed briefly to the time her father had tried to explain to her why Fluffy, their Scottish terrier, had to go to the doggie doctor, and wouldn’t be coming back. But she wasn’t his ten-year-old daughter anymore. Instead she was his thirty-three year old cabinet appointee, a position she had earned.

President Patrick gave his daughter the respect she deserved. That would be nearly impossible, he said. What we want you to do is verify the accuracy of some of the reports we have received that Abdul is exploring the use of biological or chemical warfare against the North States.

My God! Where did you get that information? Robin asked, astonished. With nuclear disarmament having reduced this threat to near minute numbers, Robin knew biological and chemical warfare had replaced nuclear holocaust as the most terrifying threat of the twenty-first century.

Even with the successful dismantling of Al Qaeda and Islamic terrorist groups, who had been the first to attempt biological terrorism in the United States, there still remained the threat of such an attack. The unknown catastrophic potential of biological or chemical warfare would be both indescribable and completely unpredictable.

We have some undercover operatives. I can go over the details at another time. Murphy’s eyes stayed fixed on hers, waiting for her response.

Some other time! Robin said indignantly. I’m the National Security Advisor. This is exactly the information I need now.

President Patrick placed a calming hand on Robin’s shoulder. Robin, I’m afraid there isn’t time. This operation isn’t just an American initiative. It will take a week for Ray to prepare a briefing for you. You understand?

Yes, of course, Robin answered, reassured that she wasn’t being slighted. However, I’m still unsure of what exactly you need me to do.

The president, and at this moment he was absolutely the president-and not her father, outlined the directives. "Robin, what we need you to do is participate in a meeting that will take place tomorrow between the Reverend Abdul, the national security advisor for the SUSA and yourself. This will be the first meeting of this type without the vice president, Ray, or myself in attendance.

I don’t need to tell you how critical this meeting will be. We need you to be very diplomatic. Both of the other parties in attendance will be watching you-to try to gain insight into the White House. You must be careful, alert to everything said, but remain cordial, and attentive at all times. Do not attempt to answer any questions that deviate from the purpose of this meeting, which is to conduct dialogue to determine Abdul’s agenda. I am sure he will be charming and persuasive. Just go along with it.

What about the issue of chemical warfare? Robin asked, jotting down some notes to review later. How do you want me to approach that topic?

We don’t, Murphy said emphatically. Only if it’s brought up by the minority representative, or Abdul himself. Do not bring it up yourself. Simply pay close attention to details, and anything that may help verify our suspicions.

Does he know I’m the president’s daughter? Robin asked, not sure of her reasons.

Murphy sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. I’m sure he does-but who knows with this guy. Are you concerned for your safety?

The thought never entered my mind. Was this the real reason she had asked? I was actually looking at it from a trust standpoint. I mean, isn’t he going to be a little suspicious of the president’s daughter?

Perhaps, Murphy responded. But remember, Muslims have a different opinion of women’s roles in society.

So you’re sending me because I’m a woman?

We’re sending you, because it’s your job, President Patrick said firmly. No fatherly tone this time.

And the fact I’m a woman may simply come in handy? Maybe unnerve Abdul a little?

We’re counting on it, Murphy said with a smile. But Robin, you are being sent because you are the best person for this job. If all we needed was a pretty face, we could roust up someone less valuable to this office. His smile became more personal. But not necessarily more beautiful.

Murphy’s underhanded attempt at a compliment went unnoticed by President Patrick, but not Robin. She couldn’t believe it. Was he

actually hitting on her in the Oval Office? Though her face remained placid, Murphy’s lack of professionalism appalled her.

When does this meeting take place? she asked, pretending to ignore Murphy’s last comment.

Tomorrow morning at ten. President Patrick picked up a manila envelope from his desk, and handed it to Robin. She took it and began to review its contents. Enclosed are your itinerary, and your plane tickets. You will be meeting at Abdul’s home in Pebble Beach, Florida. We tried to arrange a more neutral site, but he would only agree to the meeting if it offered no real inconvenience to himself.

Robin neatly folded her itinerary, and placed it back in the envelope with the tickets. When do I meet up with the SUSA representative?

Murphy referred to the file in his lap. He will be meeting you at the Abdul estate shortly before your meeting. His name is Brevin Harper. Ever hear of him?

Of course. What do we know about him? Robin asked, pen in hand waiting to gather as much information as she could.

Let’s see... Murphy made reference to his file, he graduated at the top of his class from Duke University’s law school. He served in the district attorney’s office in Atlanta before moving to Los Angeles. In L.A. he served as the district attorney for four years before being voted to office. He served as the assistant to the National Security Advisor for five years. He was appointed to the position of national security advisor two years ago. I’ve never met him, and neither has your father-but he’s supposed to be a real bulldog.

A bulldog, huh? Well, I’ll be sure to stay on my toes. Robin’s feeling of anxiety increased slightly. She would take the time necessary on the flight to convince herself there was no need to be intimidated.

When it was apparent nothing else would be discussed, President Patrick sat back down in his chair. Robin, as Ray implied, we have the utmost confidence in your ability to handle what could be a delicate situation. It sounds like Mr. Harper may have a little more experience in these matters than you, so my advice to you would be to use his experience to run the format of the meeting. Most likely, he will know how to deal with Abdul better than anyone. Just allow him to do what he feels is proper. I feel confident both governments have each other’s best interest at heart.

She wanted to tell her father she wouldn’t be intimidated, but he knew her too well-and she didn’t want to appear defensive. They were right, she was the best person for the job, and there was nothing wrong with allowing this Mr. Harper person to teach her what he knew.

Murphy snapped his folder shut, and stood up. If you don’t have any further questions, Robin, your father has some other matters he must attend to.

No, I’m pretty clear. She would make sure she was before leaving tomorrow morning. She regretted having to go to Harvard this afternoon to give a speech. She could use as much time as possible to research Reverend Abdul’s background, his theories, and perhaps do some research on Brevin Harper as well.

When do you need a report back from me?

By week’s end. Murphy closed the file on his lap and placed it in his briefcase. We’ll schedule a meeting a little later in the week.

Her father ushered her to the door, while Murphy rummaged through another folder. As Robin left the office her father closed the door behind him, joining Robin in the hallway.

How’s everything else going in my daughter’s life? He gave her a bear hug.

Good, Dad. I’m excited for this assignment.

You’ll do a good job, of that I’m certain. He placed a hand on each of her shoulders, and held her at arm’s length. So, are you seeing anyone special yet? Please tell me you’re not spending all your time working still.

Actually, I really haven’t had any time for dating, Dad. But I’m definitely not overworked either. That was a lie. She was busy, but she definitely had time to date. It was just that no one asked.

You realize if these were medieval times, there would be hundreds of men battling for your hand in marriage, John Patrick said smiling. He searched his daughter’s brown eyes. You really shouldn’t be spending all your weekends by yourself.

I know, Dad, but you wouldn’t want me to spend my weekends with someone who wasn’t special, would you? Lately, she found herself confronting feelings of desperation that she might never meet

anyone special. Robin couldn’t help but feel her father, however, was more desperate for her than she was.

Absolutely not, honey. You know that. I guess maybe I just want to be called grandpa sometime in my life. That’s selfish of me, huh?

She hugged him around his still svelte waist. Giving him a reassuring peck on the cheek, she said, No, Daddy, I think that’s sweet. Now you better get back in there and save the world, or whatever Ray has you doing.

I guess you’re right. He opened the door to his office. Good luck tomorrow, and let us know if anything needing our urgent attention comes about.

Robin said her good-byes, and had just made it around the corner when she heard footsteps running down the hall behind her. She turned to find Ray Murphy jogging toward her.

Did you forget to tell me something? she asked.

Uh...actually, no. He smoothed his hair back nervously with his hand. I was just wondering, if you wanted to, maybe go have a drink this Friday night.

Robin had never seen Murphy nervous before, and wondered if it was just an act. Gosh, Ray, she said trying to hide her discomfort, I’m flattered, but this Friday...I don’t know. I don’t know if that would look right.

Regardless if it looked right or not, she didn’t especially enjoy Murphy’s company-and couldn’t think of anything less she would want to do on a Friday night than have a drink with him. Still, he was a powerful man-and she needed to remain diplomatic.

If you’re worried about your father, I asked him last week-and he said it would be fine.

Well, okay then. Why don’t you call me later in the week, and if nothing’s come up, we can decide then. She could have said if nothing better comes up. It would have been more honest.

Great. I’ll call you Friday morning then. He smiled and headed back down the hall, not waiting for her to respond.

God! How awful! Even if he was the sexiest man alive, he still gave her the willies-and now she was halfway committed to having a drink with him. She made a mental note to call her father and ask him how she should handle this. She realized her father had not meddled

in her personal affairs in the past. And Robin was certain that no matter how desperate she may appear to her father now, he had nothing to do with Ray Murphy asking her out.

Besides, how many women in America got to ask the president of the North United States for dating advice? Quickly her mind changed gears to the matter at hand-which was getting to Harvard by one o’clock to give a speech she hadn’t finished writing yet.

CHAPTER 2

(Chicago / Tuesday, April 4 / 1:22 p.m.)

The chemist reached out and adjusted the knob on the left side of the microscope. The breathing filter, as well as the glass face shield protecting him, made viewing the cell specimen in the petri dish awkward at best. Plus the soda bottle thick lenses of his eyeglasses kept fogging up. The full-body suit caused him the greatest discomfort. It had its purpose, and he could certainly live with a little physical discomfort if he had the mental serenity of protection against the Pandora’s box laying in the petri dish in front of him. Still, it gathered uncomfortably around his middle-aged potbelly.

He had grown, in an odd way, attached to the cell and the others like it stored safely away in his laboratory. A laboratory might not be the proper description of the fifteen-by-twenty foot concrete room where he’d spent the better part of the past three months. The cold concrete floor and the harsh fluorescent lighting from the tiled ceiling made him feel like a prisoner most days. Soon he would be returning to his real purpose in life, which involved chemistry, but not on the level he had been putting his skills to use for the last quarter of a year.

Okay Henry, you look a little dehydrated today, the chemist said to the squirming cell, calling it by the name he had given it in the third week of this project.

This cell-and the thousands exactly like it in the refrigerated storage shelves lining the walls of the laboratory-were all named Henry. Each cell was given the name in reference to the chemist’s junior high school principal, Henry Roberts. Principal Roberts was a small, crotchety old man with sloping shoulders, and black plastic glasses whose frames seemed to be embedded into his temples.

At some point Principal Roberts had probably chosen