The Four Kings Read online

  The Four Kings

  SCOTT SPOTSON

  The Four Kings

  Copyright 2013 Scott Spotson. All Rights Reserved.

  Illustrations

  Chapter One

  The President of the United States sat behind his desk in the Oval Office, shrugging off the realization – which lasted barely one second! – that his administration was the most corrupt, scandal-driven, and inept in modern American history. No, by comparison, his demagogy made Richard Nixon look like an altar boy, his head bowed in deference to the almighty Lord, ready to receive communion.

  For now, Arthur Kellogg Walker was totally focused on his re-election.

  He – the Commander in Chief, no less! – was currently being investigated by the Senate Special Committee and by the Federal Bureau of Investigations (FBI) for allegations that he’d personally ordered billions of dollars in coal subsidies from the “Clean Coal Program” to go to his biggest campaign funder, Brookstone Coal. The president was accused of breaking thirteen federal laws in doing so. Impeachment loomed; the question on everyone’s mind, though, was would he be impeached in time before Election Day?

  The nation waited with bated breath.

  The First Lady had been caught appropriating millions of dollars from the White House budget in order to raze the historically ornate East Point Guest House at Camp David, contravening heritage laws, to replace it with a sparkling new twenty bedroom guest facility. Emails obtained under subpoena revealed the First Lady’s lament that the historical monument was a “rat hole.” Enraged Senators considered the possibility of reprimanding her before being told it was constitutionally impossible.

  The president’s Secretary of Defense, Nyenhuis, was impeached by the Senate upon evidence that he’d had a secret mistress who was discreetly paid by the KGB. Rumours abounded that the Russians had an incriminating video of the two of them in a heated moment, and were seeking trade concessions in exchange for hush hush assurances. Not only did the president defend the embattled cabinet minister, but he also pardoned him. President Walker was like that. He had a recalcitrant streak in him, learned from his early days serving as mayor of Chicago where he’d knuckled his way to the top.

  As members of the Cabinet – most of them partisan allies of the president – stumbled through fresh wave after wave of sordid tabloid fodder, most Americans simply longed for the day where’d they pick up the paper or check the online news and not see a blaring headline with the word “SCANDAL” in big, bold letters. Several scurrilous surreptitious scandals, indeed. The battle-scarred administration continued to earn the revulsion of millions of suffering American voters.

  While Washington figuratively burned and a Nero-like president looked on with envy, limply grasping his metaphorical fiddle, the economy tanked. Millions of American parents fumed as their boomerang adult kids sneaked in during the middle of the night to make camp on extra sofas in their basements; there were no jobs for the young. Without a second thought, commuters in the large urban cities tugged at their jackets to break free of the dozens of desperate beggars amassing at public transit entrances. Shoppers clutched their pennies inside grocery stores, worried that the price of bread would go up by the end of the week.

  The nation was in a deep funk. Voters were ready to scream at the President and his cronies. This was worse than even the skyrocketing ‘misery index’ that so bedevilled former President Jimmy Carter’s tumultuous term of office.

  But none of that matter to President Walker now.

  He was in full command of the advisors seated across the table from him, including his chief of staff, his campaign chairman, his senior strategist, his communications director, and the vice president of the United States.

  “Stats?” the president asked.

  “Unemployment is at twenty-one percent. Inflation flat at eleven percent. The gross domestic product is a negative three percent over the last quarter,” said the senior strategist. Then he added, “And, sir, your approval rating is thirty nine percent.”

  The president grimaced. “What is Kessler’s?”

  “Fifty-six point three percent.”

  The vice president spoke up. “Art, we need to take a strong stand on the riots last night in San Francisco.”

  Chattering overtook the room as the advisors interrupted each other.

  “They’re asking for the President’s head. We need to show –”

  “Gentle but firm response needed.”

  “A briefing at noon in the Rose Garden.”

  The vice president intervened. “I say we make hay of the India-Pakistan conflict. We should send planes in there again to establish a no-fly zone.”

  An advisor spoke excitedly, “Wrap the flag around the president.”

  “Never fails,” another added.

  “I like it.”

  They all looked at the president. His knew that his eyes betrayed his anxiety. He whispered, “We’re talking nuclear weapons now. What if this provokes either country to…” He paused. “…you know, to drop the bomb?”

  A staffer walked into the Oval Office. “Excuse me, Mr. President,” he said with his head held high. “Senator Bedford wants to speak to you regarding ethanol subsidies for his state.”

  The vice president perked up and asked, “Do we have his support?”

  The staffer nodded his head and winked, seemingly ecstatic at being the bearer of good news at the center of a superpower. “He says, ‘make it happen, and you both can talk.’”

  The president’s blood stirred throughout him, firing him up on the inside, but he coolly maintained his composure. Senator Bedford represented Iowa, a small but crucial key state. Moreover, he was one of the most popular politicians in the United States, and some had even urged him to run against Walker. The president knew by heart the adage, keep your enemies close.

  He motioned to his staffer and said, “Excellent. Consider it done.”

  The staffer nodded his head again. “Very good, Mr. President.”

  Once the staffer had left the room, the president glanced over at all his advisors. “So we’ve got Senator Bedford on board.” He pondered some more, attempting to recollect a thought that had been gnawing at him during the meeting. Personally, his memory was much better if he jotted his own notes when in a briefing, but he always wanted to appear presidential.

  He jabbed his finger into the air as he glanced at his notepad and seized upon his wandering idea. “That guy from Big Coal. What’s his name again?”

  “Peters,” said Craig, the Chief of Staff.

  “Yes. Peters. Craig, how many votes did you calculate he could deliver?”

  “Four and a half million votes,” Craig answered, looking down at his laptop. “Mainly composed of coal factory workers, residents in coal-based towns, and…”

  “That’s enough,” the president admonished him. He stared upwards. “Now, if we can…”

  Suddenly, the president froze, his mouth gaping. Upon the first second of silence, all the advisors craned their necks to look at him. However, he seemed to be staring past them. One by one, they turned their heads around. They all gawked at the center of the room that served as the most powerful executive office in the world.

  Four young adults were standing in the center of the Oval Office, comfortably standing on the plush area rug bearing the Presidential Seal. Their arms were crossed, their legs comfortably spread apart, their feet firmly planted.

  The dazed White House staff congregation only had a few seconds to size up their unexpected visitors. Two men. Two women. In their twenties. All looking very determined, as if they wanted to take over Washington. They were slim and wore monotone shirts with matching black pants. One wore red; the others wore blue, yellow, and purple.

  The
young woman in purple crisply ordered, “Secure the doors.”

  “Wha –” the president began to ask, completely astonished.

  As if on cue, all the doors and exits around the office slammed shut. The politicians gaped in wonder and the president didn’t know how to respond. How did they do that? Everyone in the room could hear banging and shouting noises from outside as Secret Service agents futilely mounted a rescue operation through the thick tension surrounding the situation.

  Walker’s campaign director stood up, mouth wide open, and faced the invaders.

  The young man dressed in red grinned like a madman. Then, he tossed his head back and shouted out loud: “We are the Liberators!”

  Chapter Two

  The White House team sat shell-shocked, their eyes glassy. It was as if a wand had been waved, with sparks flying out, altering them into a bunch of schoolboys, totally in awe.

  The young woman in blue approached the president. She seethed with anger as she called out in a cruel, mocking voice, “Mr. President, why aren’t you out with your constituents? Why are you all holed up in here?”

  A plastic card magically appeared in the female wizard’s hand. The president, aghast, instinctively patted his lower left jacket pocket and found it empty. He paled; that missing card was an object of the utmost national security, that containing the nuclear codes. He knew he was in trouble. Trembling, his eyes betraying fear, he stood up, and weakly pointed his finger at her. Unable to think, Walker foolishly opened his mouth as if to speak.

  Instantly, he disappeared.

  “Good work,” the man in yellow said as the woman in blue handed him the crucial plastic card. This innocuous item contained the power to unlock the nuclear might of the United States.

  “Get out of here!” The furious vice president shook his fist at the four individuals. Panicking, he glanced at the spot where the president once stood. “Where is he? What did you do with him?”

  Ignoring the second in command, the man in yellow said, “I’ll take this, thank you very much.”

  Immediately, a briefcase zipped through the air from behind the president’s desk directly into the hands of the male wizard while the White House team looked on in stunned silence.

  All at once, they comprehended the impossible: magic was at work. And now this maniac had the nuclear football, the briefcase that conveyed the secret codes to launch nuclear missiles from within the United States.

  The executives were sweating out of fear. Always having savoured being at the center of power, they’d idly daydreamed being in scenarios of peril inside the Oval Office, with assassins or terrorists lurking. They’d save the president and the country with bare hands, knuckles flying around. Then they’d be national heroes, being interviewed on the news. That was a fantasy; this was real. Their old dreams of vigilante justice on behalf the president crumbled into dust.

  More banging and shouting on the doors to the Oval Office.

  Someone had to stand up to these arrogant bastards. The communications director got up and started running toward the four people, ready to strike them. He yelled, “You’re not going to get away with this!”

  Before he could get very far, the woman in purple stretched out her hand and instantly, a thick glass dome trapped all the White House folks. The communications director bumped full force into the glass, staggered backwards, and then crumpled to the floor.

  The wizards knew it was time to move into the decisive phase, right now. “Have you contacted the others?” the woman in blue asked.

  “Yes,” replied the man in red. “Proceeding according to plan.”

  “Where’s the president?” yelled the vice president from within the encasement. Apparently there was no problem hearing through the shiny glass. “Answer me right now!”

  “The president,” said the woman in blue calmly as she strolled near the dome, “is now fraternizing with his constituents on the streets in downtown Columbus, Ohio.”

  “Which is where he should be anyway,” added the man in red, shrugging. “Rather than laying his grubby hands on disgraceful bribes.”

  “You won’t get away with this!” yelled the vice president. Realizing he was in no position to bargain, he paused. “Is he safe?”

  “Rest assured he’s in no danger,” the woman in purple said in a sultry voice. “That is, unless his angry citizens wish to avenge themselves due to his inexcusable incompetence.”

  The vice president’s face grew red. “You bastards!”

  The man in yellow closed his eyes and focussed on the codes within the briefcase, seemingly blocking out everyone around him. Even without his touch, the gears within the crucial attaché began whirring and clicking. His three companions watched intently.

  “Aha!” he cried out joyfully. The briefcase clacked decisively. He opened his eyes and whispered out, “Just imagine, the fate of the world, all enclosed in one tiny briefcase.”

  The man in red nodded. “Do it.” The young women glanced at the briefcase expectantly. The White House aggregation reacted with stunned glances. There was silence.

  The man in yellow broke into a wide, playful grin, with a maniacal look in his eyes as he snapped open the briefcase in front of him. “Come to Papa.”

  He then pressed the red button – the button that was the first step to a full-blown nuclear calamity.

  Chapter Three

  “Oh my God,” the chief of staff said in a muted voice.

  “Shh!” the woman in blue said, waving her hands at them in one swift motion. Suddenly, everything fell silent. The White House staff officials yelled from within their glass prison until they were blue in the face, to no avail. Their throats became hoarse from exertion.

  A voice sounded out from within the briefcase. “Awaiting confirmation.”

  The man in yellow confidently imitated the president’s voice perfectly. “Major Attack Operation Emerald Water confirmed. Authorization: Arthur Kellogg Walker, President of the United States.” He crisply read out loud from the card. “Code zero one, four, three, nine.”

  “Confirmed. Awaiting authorization from Secretary of Defense.”

  “I know where he is,” said the woman in blue. She placed her hands on her forehead, her brow furrowing. Then she held out her hand, and another plastic card instantly appeared in it. As he was handed the card, the man in yellow assumed a totally different voice, precise in his delivery. “Major Attack Operation as ordered by the president confirmed. Authorization: Albert P. Nyenhuis, Secretary of Defense of the United States, Code G, zero nine, seven, four, nine.”

  “Understood and verified,” the voice from the briefcase said somewhat uncertainly. “Mr. President, are you sure?”

  “Hurry,” pleaded the man in yellow, articulating perfectly back into the president’s voice although he had a wide grin on his face, “There’s no time. Now.”

  There were a few seconds of delay until the disembodied voice came back on. “Aye, Aye, sir. Nuclear missiles now launched. God save us all.”

  “Thank you,” said the man in yellow, who never broke a sweat. He glanced at the glass dome that trapped their enemies, who all seemed mortified and resigned. A few were anxiously trying to get their cell phones to work through the dome. Some were weeping.

  “Call upon the others,” the woman in purple commanded. She nodded at the man in yellow. “You go, as planned.”

  The man in yellow acknowledged her direction, and then disappeared.

  “Everything proceeding according to plan,” the man in red clasped his hands, unable to contain his enthusiasm. “I just heard from Dmitri. The missiles from Russia are also confirmed launched. Jyoti confirms that the missiles from India and Pakistan are on their way.”

  Despite the magical veil of silence, the animated gestures of the trapped White House officials distracted the wizards. “Let us out!” several pleaded, banging on the inside of the glass enclosure. The vice president repeatedly slammed his linebacker-like shoulder into the thick wall, suffering nu
merous bruises in the process. Panic shined out from his eyes.

  Through it all, the woman in purple held her arms up to the ceiling, as if embracing the open sky. She opened her eyes wide and grinned from ear to ear. “The fun begins – now!”

  Chapter Four

  Thousands of glistening agents of death, nuclear-tipped missiles, slickly emerged from various spots all over the world, en route to their task of annihilation and widespread destruction of hundreds of millions of people. Sleek, shiny, and formidable, they appeared as volleys of fat arrows, all lined up together in a semi-circle arc into the stratosphere.

  Suddenly, dozens of young wizards appeared, and as if acting upon instinct, flying close to the missiles tracking them. At various moments, they all raised their arms while airborne. The observer on Earth didn’t know that these wizards were about to alter the insane decades-old Cold War doctrine called “mutually assured destruction,” appropriately titled “M.A.D.” for short.

  Dozens of military and espionage experts, all employed and sworn to top security by the nuclear powers on Earth, closely monitored the progress of the missiles from underground bunkers. No amount of special training could keep the observers from having overanxious heart palpitations, hyperventilation, clenched teeth, and white knuckles as they tracked the deadly weapons.

  By now, these strategists knew that most of the missiles would be beginning their murderous descent to several heavily-industrialized and populated spots on the planet.

  However, to the extreme surprise of the nuclear experts, the missiles kept going in one direction – up.

  “What the hell?” exclaimed several of them, in their own languages.

  The missiles, defying the laws of gravity, continued up, up, up into the sky, now more than fifty miles above the Earth’s surface, without once falling into an arc pattern.

  Minutes later, a security chief said, “Now passing three hundred kilometers! They’re in the exosphere!”