But now she and her administration were about to be jammed up over Rios’s disaster of an agency.
“And that’s why I need a cigarette,” she snarled.
Gastrell reappeared. She held a single cigarette in her hand, and a green Bic lighter. She placed them on the desk in front of the president, every fiber of her being radiating disapproval.
“You’re too much a Puritan, Ginny. Live a little. I’m going to. What do you think: How soon after the memorial service can I start dating?”
“Have you finalized your eulogy?”
“I’ve finalized everything. Final.” She lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply. “Oh, sweet home.” She looked at the chief of staff and said, “Let me have women about me that are fat / Sleek-headed women and such as sleep a-nights. Yond Gastrell has a lean and hungry look. / She thinks too much. Such women are dangerous.”
It was a speech from Shakespeare. From the play Julius Caesar.
“Madam President,” Gastrell said, choking down her anger. “I have to tell you something. You may get a question about it.”
A deep inhalation. The president blew a smoke ring and laughed at it. “What now, Ginny? What now?”
“There’s a video. It just showed up and it already has two hundred thousand views. It will hit ten times that within twenty-four hours.”
“An especially cute kitty?”
“It’s a fake, of course, but it’s very well done. It appears to be video of you. No, not actually of you. Video as if someone had a camera mounted …actually …Let me show you.”
The chief of staff leaned in with her own pad, turned it to landscape and tapped the screen.
Rough, jerky, maddeningly low-quality video showed various scenes, all apparently within the White House private quarters.
“So?”
“Wait.”
Suddenly the picture changed and there was Monte Morales. There he was lying on his back, chest bare, face contorted. And there he was talking, though there was no audio.
And there he was with hands, feminine hands, on either side of his head.
“Ah-ah-AHHH!” the president cried. She wanted to cover her mouth but instead grabbed her own blouse as if roughing herself up.
Gastrell put a hand on the president’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you. It’s despicable. Even by Internet standards it’s vile.”
And now Monte was being dragged.
And now he was slipping below the water in the tub, and the blood was a swirling smoke pattern around his head.
“Ah,” the president said. “Ah. Oh. Oh God.”
“We can try to get it taken down, but it’s already propagated everywhere. Anonymous is claiming credit. They claim …well, it doesn’t matter.”
The president’s fist clenched around the cigarette. It burned into her palm and gave off the sickening barbecue smell of burning flesh.
“Are you all right, Madam President?”
“It’s a fake. It’s a fake.”
“Obviously. But it’s well done, as I said. The backgrounds look very much like the actual bathroom. The Secret Service is analyzing it, so it can be thoroughly debunked.”
“Debunked,” the president whispered.
“I wanted you to know.”
“Debunked.” She opened her hand and saw an angry oval burn in her palm, right over her lifeline.
“Get out,” the president said.
“There’s the briefing on the Azerbaijan situation in twenty minutes.”
But the president wasn’t listening. She pushed abruptly away from her desk and ran toward the private quarters.
TWENTY-ONE
KimKim, a second crewman, and a middle-aged woman from two levels up came for Minako. Minako had seen the woman around. She thought she might be Australian.
“My name is Kyla. You must be so honored,” the woman gushed.
“I want out of here,” Minako said. “I want to go home. You people have no right to keep me here! Let me go!”
“Oh, that’s silliness, dear. Everything is fine. Everything is wonderful. This is the most wonderful place in the world.”
“You’re brainwashed. You’re crazy!” How many times could she say that? What was the point in yelling at crazy people?
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Kyla said. “I couldn’t be happier.”
“It’s what they’ve done to you,” Minako said, trying desperately to communicate, to make the woman understand. “You aren’t thinking right. This place …those horrible men, those monsters!”
The slap came hard and fast. It was open palm and hit its intended target perfectly. Minako’s cheek stung, and she was shocked into silence.
“I’m sorry, sweetie, but you simply must not insult the Great Souls. They know best. They’re geniuses, don’t you see that? You’re too young to understand.”
“Enough, let’s go,” the second crewman said impatiently. “The bosses said fetch her, so let’s fetch her and be done with it.”
“Absolutely!” Kyla said. “And quickly, too!”
The two crewmen each grabbed an arm.
“This one wants to hurt me, is that part of your madness, too?” Minako demanded of Kyla.
“Nothing happens in Benjaminia or in Charlestown, either, unless it is the will of the Great Souls,” Kyla said. “I wouldn’t worry.”