The Creation of Adam: The Man Who Would Be God

By Nicolai Andreyevich

Who, among us is not aging, wilting, losing the passion and pleasures we once embraced with an iron willed determination never to relinquish?
And thus the uneasy worry creeps in, during unguarded moments of self reflection.
Where is my lifes blood which surged through my veins? Where is the bursting, heaving chest pounding ecstasy?
The secret of youth, power, love or some facsimile thereof is here, thinly concealed within the covers of this seemingly banal book, waiting only for you to claim your genetic birthright.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 25, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481752107

Nicolai Andreyevich

Nicolai Andreyevich, orphaned as an infant in Kaliningrad, was adopted by one of the Russian Mafia’s most feared crime bosses at the age of two. His penetrating brown eyes irresistible to the man he resembled and who claimed to be his father. Fourteen years later, young Nicolai was forced to flee his opulent world after a violent coup left his family bleeding on the marble floor of their villa in Sochi. He was raised by his father’s mistress, who took diamonds and cash from the house safe after the attack and used forged passports to elude those who sought to eliminate the heir to his father’s throne. Nicolai studied in Israel, under an assumed name, and when a Palestinian rocket attack killed this woman, whom he had loved, and wounded him on the streets of Ashkelon, he took what was left of the family wealth, boarded a ship, and sailed to Aruba. His love for the island has grown through the years and is clearly demonstrated in his work.

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2013 by Nicolai Andreyevich. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/24/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-5228-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-5209-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-5210-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013908726

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

1.   Washington, Dc

2.   Dan’s Apartment

3.   The Press Conference

4.   Hope For Tomorrow

5.   The Lure Of Paradise

6.   The Colony Of Aruba

7.   The King Of Aruba

8.   For The Love Of God

9.   The Ceremony

10.   Going Home

11.   What Happens In Vegas

12.   Los Angeles

13.   Creating A Brain Trust

14.   Trouble In Paradise

15.   Communing With God

16.   Armageddon

17.   The One Departs Paradise

18.   The White Team

19.   The Fight Of The Millenium

20.   Red Rock

Author’s Note

1

WASHINGTON, DC

T he end of the world could not have come at a more inopportune time. The President needed his National Press Secretary 24/7, his mother and Adam, her invalid third husband, were arriving any minute and Dan had barely unpacked the boxes in his new apartment.

Why are they coming now? Dan asked himself.

He rushed to clear the small kitchen table, the glasses clinking as he placed them in the sink. He glanced around the apartment, grabbed his socks lying in the floor and tossed them into the white wicker laundry basket.

The new apartment was quite a find. He and Marcus had the whole third floor of the big row house, which was at least a hundred years old. He appreciated the history. It had just been renovated and was within walking distance of the Capitol. It was expensive, but if the world did end, he wouldn’t have to make the first lease payment.

Marcus, you’ll have to stay with Molly this week, he said.

You’re getting rid of me, then? Marcus said.

Dan’s forced smile softened as he noticed the light filtering through Marcus’ close cropped red hair.

Marcus stooped to pick up Dan’s plaid boxers and used them to dust the coffee table.

It’ll be a break for you, Dan said. His face was serious now, his voice almost frantic at the thought of having to entertain during a national crisis. You won’t have to be here with them 24-7.

You could just ask them to get a hotel.

Marcus’ smile was fixed to his face. Dan had rarely seen him without it. How did he get his teeth so white?

Mom can’t afford that. I know they want to stay with me. It’s just so inconvenient. So much is going on right now. Dan’s left hand was on his hip, the right on his forehead and he felt like his blood pressure was rising.

No shit, Marcus said, bringing him a glass of wine from the kitchen. You need to calm down.

Thanks, was all Dan could say.

He took a deep breath and sank into the futon that served as their couch. Walt bounded onto the dark chocolate upholstery licking his master. Dan held the delicate stem ware out of reach and nuzzled his young Springer Spaniel. The wine was a Pinot Noir, one of his favorites.

Walt! You’re the one who needs to calm down, he said.

He tried, not too successfully, to hold the squirming dog at arm’s length so that he could take a sip and try to simmer down, as his mother would say. Walt jumped. The wine sloshed on the futon.

Fuck Walt, look what you’ve done. His Tennessee accent had all but disappeared.

It doesn’t matter. Red wine won’t even show on this fabric once it dries, Marcus said. He used Dan’s boxers to sop up the spill.

Now that won’t come out, Dan said. I’ll look like I’m having a period.

Marcus laughed and tossed the boxers in the wicker basket and took the whole load toward the little washer dryer combo chiseled into the hall of their shotgun apartment.

Danny, Daniel or Dan, he answered to all three. It seemed everyone called him by a different name. His mom and those who knew him best called him Danny. Here in Washington he was Daniel or Dan. He was the Press Secretary for President Bill Frist. He had worked for the president when he was Senator Frist and his good work had not been forgotten by the grateful first term president.

Marcus, can you pick them up from the airport? Dan said loudly to be sure Marcus heard him. He brushed his hand through his thick black hair and cocked his head cupping his ear and listening for some reply.

What? Marcus looked up from his pile of dirty clothes. He held the orange Resolve squirt bottle over the wine stained boxers like the Senate majority leader’s gavel. He cocked his face and pursed his lips. He started to protest, but Dan cut him off.

I just don’t have time. There’s a press conference in two hours and I have to brief the president. I can’t be in two places at once.

When do they land? Marcus said, planting his hands on his petite hips. He stood five foot, two and barely 120 pounds. He drove Dan crazy. Dan knew Marcus enjoyed the times when he really needed him.

In one hour at Baltimore, Dan replied, and gave Marcus a little peck on the cheek.

Why couldn’t it be Washington National?

It’s Southwest. Cheaper. You know.

OK, but you owe me. Big time!

Great! A blow job after they’re gone, Dan cooed wrapping his arms around his roomie’s waist and squeezing his muscular little ass with both hands.

Thank God for this apartment, Dan thought, otherwise I would never make it. He and Marcus had moved several times in the area as their jobs had changed with the political tide. He really enjoyed the convenience of living so close to his work. This apartment was perfect.

Outside he threw his leather briefcase into his new silver Audi TT Roadster convertible. This was his baby. It was a short walk, but with his new position he could drive right up to the west gate of the White House. He squeezed his 6'2" frame into the tiny sports car and threw it into gear.

Traffic was bumper to bumper. Dan’s face was red as he drummed his fingers on the leather wrapped steering wheel. He could have walked faster. He pulled the parking brake and hit the button to put the top down while he waited at the next light.

The exhaust from the diesel truck in front of him poured over the little car, choking him. He started to put the top back up, but the light changed and traffic crept forward.

The gates to the White House West Wing were open and the uniformed guard stepped out of his box. Dan flashed his perfect smile and the guard waved the Press Secretary into the complex.

Dan held out his badge to the Secret Service agent at the door and breezed into the Situation Room where President Frist and his cabinet were already beginning some technical discussion about the asteroid. Dan was on time, but it looked like things must have gotten started early. He quickly surveyed the room. Every seat around the big table was taken, except for his.

The president stood clutching his podium. He’d taken off his tie and now ran his fingers through his brush of gray hair. The air in the room was not moving.

So you’re telling me that there’s nothing that can be done to stop this, this asteroid from hitting the Earth? The vein on the president’s forehead was prominent and his face more flushed by the second. Dan! Where have you been? You need to hear this shit!

Yes sir! Sorry, it won’t happen again. Dan quickly took his seat keeping his eyes focused on his boss.

Listen to this, Dan, the president said, motioning to the balding man wearing a white jacket with NASA embroidered above the pocket, one of many, backs against the wall, around the room. Repeat what you just said. Dan could see the tension in President Frist’s shoulders relax slightly.

The scientist flinched at the Commander in Chief’s blistering barrage aimed in his direction. We have explored every possibility. We simply do not have a rocket capable of launching a large enough warhead to deflect this asteroid. And if we did have the rocket we don’t have enough time to test it and to get it to launch before the impact.

This long list of excuses reminded Dan of one of the few things worth remembering that Adam had told him through the years: "Excuses are the tools of the incompetent. They build monuments to nothing and those who specialize in them are seldom good at anything else." Seemed appropriate about now.

What are we supposed to say to the public? the president said, his voice cracked. Dan noticed that his tremor was becoming more pronounced. The president rested his hands on the podium and took a deep breath.

Dan cleared his throat. This asteroid, where will it impact and what kind of damage do we expect?

The impact is calculated to occur tomorrow, Christmas Day around 1:00 p.m. It should hit the east central region of China.

What kind of global damage do we expect?

The primary damage should be limited to China. There may be some dust and debris causing rather severe air pollution, but we expect that global cooling will be minimal. We do not expect to see any permanent climatic changes, but in the short term tons of soot and dust will be dispersed into the atmosphere, making the sky hazy and decreasing the intensity of the Sun. There will be some problems with growing crops this summer, but not catastrophic, as happened 65 million years ago with a much larger asteroid that impacted the Yucatan and put an end to the Age of the Dinosaur.

The flat screens around the room displayed an artist’s rendition of the asteroid impact and the cloud of dust rising out of eastern China.

Is this going to cause major shifts in the tectonic plates and earthquakes or Tsunami waves? the president said.

There will be an earthquake-like tremor which may even be felt in this hemisphere, and smaller earthquakes could occur. We do not foresee any major movements in the tectonic plates. Tsunamis only occur with impacts in the ocean.

I think we can put a positive spin on this, Dan said, jotting some ideas down on his notepad.

I knew I could count on you Dan. President Frist smiled.

//

The president’s speech was just coming over the televisions at the Baltimore Washington International Airport as Adam and Kay waited with Marcus for their luggage.

Maybe we shouldn’t have come, Kay said. Her green eyes showed the worry her tone tried to conceal.

Nonsense. It’s Christmas and Danny’s looking forward to seeing his mother, Adam said.

Marcus. It was so nice of you to come get us, Kay said, taking Marcus’s pale white hand and warming it with her own tanned hands. You and Danny should have come with us to Aruba last month.

That’s one of ours, Adam said, pointing with his black metal cane at the big brown bag with the overweight tag. It’s yours Kay.

Marcus stumbled scurrying to retrieve it. Oh hell, I twisted my ankle, he said. He pulled off his Cole Haan loafer and sat on the dirty carpet rubbing his ankle.

That’s the first curse word I ever heard him say, Adam said to Kay.

Kay helped Marcus up and scurried to snag her suitcase just as it was disappearing through the hanging plastic strips covering the open mouth of the baggage conveyor system. The hard side suitcase was cumbersome and Kay and Marcus strained to heave it onto the rented cart.

Adam’s smaller bag appeared shortly and Marcus loaded it. Marcus and Kay pushed the luggage as Adam limped behind them. Since the accident every step sent spasms of pain through his pelvis and down the fronts of both legs. He pulled out his pill bottle and popped a 40 milligram Oxycontin in his mouth, initially horribly bitter, now he hardly noticed.

Marcus had brought Danny’s Explorer, so there was room for everything. Kay climbed into the back seat and Adam reached up for her to pull him in beside her, leaving Marcus to chauffeur. He wedged his cane between the seat and the door and tried to find a comfortable position.

Adam leaned back and closed his eyes. Why couldn’t they just move to Aruba? The weather was always perfect, they had casinos, beaches. His life in Tennessee was over. His disability insurance would pay for a small house in town and he could lie on the beach during the day. The hot sun dulled the pain and at night the casinos were always busy with tourists aching to part with their money.

He was missing his usual Friday/Saturday/Sunday poker marathon at Metropolis to visit his stepson. Considering that was about all he looked forward to, a great sacrifice. His general surgery practice had come to an abrupt halt after that fucking horse had crushed his pelvis, leaving him the impotent piece of shit that he was. He would have killed himself, but he was a coward. He would have killed the horse, slowly, but Kay had given it to some poor schmuck before he could weight bear and lock and load one of his many assault rifles.

He replayed his plan for the death of that horse over and over. He would shoot it in the front leg, then the rear, one leg at a time, watching as it crumpled to the ground in agony. He would then pour gasoline over the horse, light it on fire and laugh as it burned. He even had a small sink hole picked out in a back field to dump the carcass with his front end loader, to hide the evidence from the PETA fuckers. People Eating Tasty Animals, he smiled at the thought.

Kay pulled off her heels and rubbed her feet. Adam admired her thin legs. Her jacket concealed her full breasts. He brushed open the lapel to get a better look.

Adam! she protested and pushed his hand away.

He knew it was only a whisper of a dream to consider, but his wife was so hot, a trophy wife if there was one. Now all he could do was look, and with Cialis, achieve a soft erection which faded quickly. He knew she resented his pathetic state and he knew she was doing his friend Dave. He didn’t care. His life was over.

Y’all must be tired after your trip, Marcus said merging into bumper to bumper traffic on the busy MD 295 south.

Fighting this traffic is worse than our whole trip from Nashville, Kay said.

Her long brown hair framed her beautiful face and trailed down her back. Adam reached to brush a stray curl from her eyes. She retreated to her side of the bench seat.

How do you deal with this every day? Adam asked, removing the ear bud of his iPod, interrupting Hotel California.

Marcus turned and gave a quick smile. You get used to it. Really, I hardly notice it anymore. And besides we can walk to work from the new place, so the driving is minimal during the week.

Marcus navigated the thirty some miles like a pro and soon pulled in front of their apartment, parking under the sycamore branches, nose to bumper with a Hummer. He never broke a sweat.

I’m going to get you two settled, then I’m going to stay at Molly’s and let you have my room, Marcus said.

He unlocked the front door of the building and held it open for Adam, who limped in. The steps were agony. He leaned against the wall of the landing as Kay tried to manage both bags.

You don’t need to do that, Kay said, as she stepped though the door. We can certainly stay in a hotel.

Marcus reached out his hand, taking Kay’s large bag, and used it to prop the door open. She took Adam’s lighter bag and made her way toward the steep wooden steps that led to the third floor apartment. She stopped at the first landing to rest.

We stayed at the Hilton several times before, Adam said. He was panting. We thought you and Danny had more room in this new apartment.

Danny wants you both to stay with him, Marcus said. Let him be the host. It means a lot to him. Molly and I may see you later. Danny was planning on taking y’all out to dinner.

Adam loved his Georgia drawl.

Well, if you insist, Kay said. We certainly appreciate your generosity, letting us have your room.

Marcus and Kay drug the heavy bags, bumping up the steps as Adam watched. He took one step at a time, resting frequently to catch his breath. The Oxycontin was not helping.

Marcus cracked open the door to the apartment and reached inside. He grabbed Danny’s dog by the collar with one hand and held the door open for Kay with the other. She hauled the heavy bags into the small foyer.

Let me give you all the grand tour, he said. He released the pup, which immediately jumped on Adam.

Get down, Adam said.

He pushed the dog off his aching legs and stepped behind Kay’s big bag. He held out his cane to keep the dog at bay.

The shotgun apartment seemed so small. The rooms ran together. There was a living room/dining room combo in the front with a little kitchen. The countertop was nice, black granite speckled with some white. Danny’s bedroom was next and a very small bathroom separated his from Marcus’ bedroom in the back.

How they got queen sized beds up there was a mystery. Marcus’ window looked out over a tiny back yard where an ancient birch tree erupted from the center. Its tall branches reached to the sky. Garbage cans were lined up by the back door. There was a low rusting iron fence fixed into a deteriorating brick and mortar foundation surrounding the tiny property and joined by similar fences on either side.

The Whites settled into the apartment and made themselves at home to wait for Danny. Kay hung a few things up, the nicer things that would wrinkle. Adam rolled his bag into Marcus’ room, abandoning it by the bed.

Adam could already feel the itching in his eyes and congestion building in his nose. Soon his sinuses would be pounding. He braced his left leg against the high mattress and gritted his teeth, willing the grinding pain in his pelvis and thighs into submission long enough to hoist his small carry-on up on the bed. He dug out the Flonase nasal spray, Zyrtec and his MS Contin. He thought he had remembered to take his allergy shot before boarding the plane, but Walt was all over the apartment.

His memory was pathetic. How could a surgeon, once a very good one, be reduced to this? The Xanax, Ambien and narcotics were erasing his memory and except for his memories he had nothing left. His chronic pelvic pain would not permit stopping the drugs, even for a day, better to be a fucking zombie.

Adam gripped the pills in his left hand and limped to the bathroom. He found a stack of small paper cups sitting on the white pedestal sink and tossed back the pills. He glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and quickly turned away. His hair was gray and receding, despite two hair transplants and his face was undeniably old. He straightened his stooped shoulders for a moment and then, surrendering to gravity, let them droop.

He gripped the arm of the futon, braced himself and flopped down beside Kay. The flames in his pelvis raised their siren heads, biting raw nerves. He pushed them down into the locked cellar of his subconscious mind and turned his attention to the television. Kay scooted over.

Adam, do you have to sit down so hard?

Yes, Evelyn Kay, he said, smacking his cane down on the coffee table. She exhaled, more of a snort and rolled her eyes.

The news channels were all replaying the president’s press conference about the asteroid. Adam smiled at Kay when Danny would announce the president and give a little statement of his own. He knew Danny had written the president’s speech too. Even in his drug induced stupor he was proud of Danny. That was one of the few things he and Kay agreed upon these days. It sounded encouraging that the US would escape most of the effects.

Bored with the drone and repetition, Adam craned his neck, looking around the room. The furniture was arranged just so. Danny had tried to explain the theory of feng shui before. Adam hadn’t grasped the concept. He heard Marcus’ bedroom door open and light steps padding down the warped hard wood hall.

I’m going to leave you two to your own devices, Marcus said.

He was dragging a small overnight bag. Walt followed him to the door wagging his tail, but Marcus squeezed out leaving Danny’s baby with strangers. The pup whimpered a moment then bounded to Adam, covering him with white dog hair.

Get down Walt! Adam said, I’m allergic to you, don’t you remember? Go sit somewhere.

Walt ignored the command.

Adam took his cane and levered himself out of the low