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thin, for he had been worked hard over the past few years, but his resemblance
to Jack James was still uncanny. He had the same general facial features. The
same hair color, same build.
James put his sunglasses on the corpse. His wallet had already been stuffed in
the pocket of the man's trousers. There was no record of Jack James's
fingerprints anywhere. He had never been in the military, and he had fled the
United States before he had been arrested for his crimes there. The dead man
had a similarly clean record. His face was bruised only slightly and his
fingers were left intact.
God knew that it would be enough to fool Satan. James and his followers left
the look-alike corpses and escaped into the hills of Mayana. When the
authorities arrived, they found exactly what Jack James wanted them to find-a
cult leader who had forced his followers to commit suicide, killing himself,
as well, rather than go to prison. It was instant frontpage news.
The legend of Jamestown flared brightly for a time. But news was an ongoing
search for fresh blood. As time went on, Jack James was tossed on history's
dusty heap of infamous psychotics.
And while the mass suicide he had engineered became the stuff of twisted
legend, the real Jack James hid out in a small village in the dense Mayanan
jungle. After a year in exile, he ventured out of the forest into New Briton.
James found a gifted plastic surgeon, a British expatriate who had left
England under unpleasant circumstances. The man asked few questions. A few
years and several operations later-with the bandages off, the scars long
healed and the bruises faded away-Jack James emerged from the jungle as
politician Blythe Curry-Hume. A true man of the people. A patient man, he
started small. A handshake here, a small village meeting there. As the years
went on, the drip-drip-drip of personal appearances swelled into a river.
It didn't take a great effort to establish a trust with the disaffected
element of the Mayanan population. His years in the wilderness had not
diminished his ability to weave his charismatic spell. He became champion of
the common folk.
The rest took longer. Over time, Blythe Curry-Hume graduated to bigger cities,
larger crowds. And when the time was right, he made the final move from the
fringes of Mayanan politics. It was a journey of almost two decades.
The Almighty was slow to anger and righteous in his wrath. As executive
president, Blythe Curry-Hume's platform was a simple one. He wanted revenge.
Revenge against the world that had banished him. Revenge against those who
thought him mad. Revenge against the wicked mortals who had persecuted him.
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And, fittingly, God's scheme of vengeance was truly great.
James had constructed his instrument of revenge on the old Jamestown site. And
the fenced-off valley where his followers had met their end hid a special
secret.
Finance Minister Carlos Whitehall still thought the Vaporizer Project was his
own idea. He resented Blythe Curry-Hume as an interloper who had stepped into
office after the project had already been started. The fool.
Carlos Whitehall was a tool, to be used and discarded. A scapegoat if one
became necessary. The same was true for all of Mayana if it came to that. But
it would not come to that.
They were all unwitting pawns. Every last one of them going about their
prearranged parts in a play written in blood by a madman who alone knew the
final act. And when revenge came, the world would be rocked to its molten core
and the heavens would rain fire.
THERE WASN'T A SIGN of fire in the beautiful clear blue sky as Executive
President Blythe Curry-Hume watched the heavens. Along with his entourage, he
stood on the tarmac of New Briton International Airport. The sun warmed his
upturned face, glinting off his sunglasses.
The plane appeared as a dot, growing larger along with its fighter-jet escort.
Curry-Hume watched as it landed and taxied slowly to a stop on the main
runway.
Curry-Hume stood more erect as the air stairs were rolled up to the plane.
Soon, very soon.
At his side Finance Minister Carlos Whitehall stood at attention. The fussy
older man seemed irritated that there were others from the Mayanan government
there to intrude on what was actually his moment in the spotlight. Curry-Hume
noted the minister's irritation.
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