Angels Mark (The Serena Wilcox Dystopian Trilogy Book 1)

Angels Mark Chapter 9

9

>>My Karyn,

I write you heavy heart. You must know for it is my hope you can go safe.

Iran make fools of everyone. For years they lie about nuclear missiles. Nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty is nothing, they spit upon it as easily as they spit on you, dear Karyn.

They threaten who wants make peace with Israel. Pro-West Arab Saudi Arabia and Egypt see Iran success nuclear, but have no fight. Iran pressure Lebanon, Syria, the Palestinians, and the Iraqis. Many thousands, hundred thousands, join radical Islamist. "Death to America!" on Iranian street for too many year. No one stop Iran. Now they make nuclear weapons in short period. They make stockpiles uranium for nuclear device in few months—make nuclear weapons in short period. They make centrifuges to pipe work. They learn technology when they talk to UN, many lies. Now they can do bomb. They will do this. It will be soon. I hear it from husband. You trust me to know truth. I tell you day and time. I tell you where missiles strike. You go safe.

Your Farideh <<

Paul read the forwarded e-mail over and over again, but still didn’t understand why someone had sent it to him. His head was swimming with theories that fell apart. What had begun as a simple blackmail plot to get himself onto Kinji’s staff had evolved into playing serious dirty politics with the big boys.

When Paul had scoffed at President William’s speech that day on the tarmac, he had no idea that he was being watched, and followed, the entire time. Of course William’s people tracked every onlooker, how could he have thought otherwise? It had been foolish for Paul to show up there, expecting to go unnoticed. It was probably that very move that got him discovered, although the jig would have been up anyway, since William’s team had Kinji’s office bugged.

The wind out of his sails, he didn’t trust himself to pinpoint the exact moment of his downfall. He sat with slumped shoulders, waiting to be told what to do next, like the minion he was destined to be.

The phone rang. He answered with trepidation, having a strong feeling that the sender of the e-mail would be on the other end of the line. He was not mistaken.

“You opened the e-mail.”

“Yes? What is that?”

“It’s a big problem for the President.”

“For Williams?”

“Yes, for Williams.”

“What does this have to do with me?”

“You’re going to be the one to fix it.”

“How do I do that?”

“Go outside. I’m standing in your yard, in the back of your house.”

Paul was only a few feet away from his back door. He peered out the window and didn’t see anyone. He slowly opened the door and saw a young blonde man sitting on one of Paul’s own lawn chairs that he’d placed amongst the landscaped shrubbery, well concealed from the road. He studied the man’s face until recognition washed over him. “I know you. You’re the intern I saw that day on the tarmac. You got the podium ready for William’s speech.”

“I’m more than an intern,” Bryce scoffed.

“Obviously. So what’s your deal?” Paul picked up a second chair, walked to where Bryce was, sat upon it, and leaned in close, conspiringly, “We’re both players. We even look alike enough to pass for brothers. So why are you sitting in the power seat when I’m sitting in a puddle of drool?”

“Why should I tell you anything? You work for me.”

Paul shrugged to feign indifference, not even fooling himself. “I was just curious.”