Suicide Bomber

“The polls say you don’t stand a chance in hell–.”

“I know that,” I snapped. Who was he kidding? I’m the central player in the greatest coup in the history of the world. It’s just part of what I agreed to do, if necessary. Besides, the idea of a landslide loss in November just stuck in my craw. I mean, really stuck there. I’d rather be martyred than face that.

My “advisor” frowned. (Handler is more like it–but the Global Nazi running things here thinks I don’t know that either.)

“Timing is,” he began.

I knew he was stroking me, but I nodded anyway. “Yeah, everything.”

“The American Spring a series of baby steps into a real Shit-Sandwich Summer. And they fall for this crap.” He snickered. “Every time.”

He made it all seem so casual. Then again, he wasn’t the one making the sacrifice here.

“I see Farrakhan made the news,” I said.

He smiled. “Right on cue.” His eyes glimpsed some unnamed glory in the distance. “People will kill their leaders, made headlines at Drudge, too. It’s beautiful.”

“So, who is it?” I said.

He blinked once into a direct, piercing look at me. “What?”

“A picture, that’s all I want.”

His eyes narrowed, and I almost laughed out loud. The hell with the Global Nazi’s script. He’s been wrong before. Timing ain’t everything. Not when you’re the one waiting.

“We can’t afford to be premature here. There’s still a chance…”

“We won’t have to go that route,” I finished for him. “Look, friend, I know already. Now that those patriotic assholes guarding me are gone, we got new men in place, you don’t think I know?” I shook my head. “A nudge here, a shove there, and then the climactic event. Same old script.”

“Formula…for a crisis. And it works.”

“For the last forty years.”

“You’re the trigger.”

“I prefer catalyst,” I said, invoking my best campaign voice, “to an historic crisis of global proportions.”

His eyes lit up. “Social and economic. Like a bomb.”

“Riots, chaos, martial law.”

“UN control.”

We both laughed. We hate the Constitution.

“Just a picture, huh?” he said.

“The name, too, if you want.”

His smile lacked, but that tell-tale fraction of genuine humor. “I’ll see what I can do. Will there be anything else, sir?”

When the button is pushed, there’s no running away…

She was in my office a couple of hours later. She’s smooth, the slickest operator of them all. She would never rush right in here, take the slightest risk of showing their fear. Like I could back out now anyway. But what I learned from her over the years…I’m so good now I make her think she’s fooling me.

Small talk, and then she said simply, “You really want to know who?”

“Just want to see if I can pick him out. Gives me something to do while I’m,” I made quotes in the air with both hands, “mesmerizing the crowds.”

I knew that would get a giggle out of her.

“He’ll have to be photographed at a few stops, won’t he?” I said. “You know, for the media angle to work later.”

“Well, they’ve got the social networks’ pages in place already. I’ll see what I can do,” she said.

Allah, be merciful. Don’t make me wait too long.

The suspense is killing me.

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3 thoughts on “Suicide Bomber

  1. You want guesses? It’s written from the O’s perspective. The “advisor” is Soros. “She” is Hillary. The name under speculation, the Grand Mufti of the Globe, is…. We’re all waiting for that one.

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