The Click

Yennie Tawahada stood at the open door to the oval office talking while

President Wainwright sat on the edge of her desk listening. Dillon Burber sat in a chair in the corner watching.

“It’s only a matter of time until they discover DanSheba. Oliver Hitchcock found our man Nagasi thanks to our mutual connection,” Yennie attempted to say matter-of-factly. He was conflicted. DanSheba was his home, the home of his family and ancestors for so many generations he couldn’t count that far back. He also agreed with Meta. The time was right to do what had to be done.

The president chuckled. “Knowing Oliver Hitchcock it will be sooner rather than later. We can’t have him discovering DanSheba without the public on our side. … No, we’ll need to speed things up.”

“What do you suggest?” Dillon piped in.

“Something to shake up the public. Make them think for themselves. Something that will make headlines.

“Like?” Yennie asked. Each additional day he worked for Andrea Wainwright was a day he realized more fully how cunning she could be.

“Let’s just say that Dillon here, our beloved Press Secretary, will have something juicy to feed to the press corps, yes, juicy enough to make the faithful want to burn me at the stake.” She smiled a very wicked smile.

Janine Rousseau stood in the living room in front of her opened wall safe filling it with bundles of hundred dollar debit notes she was taking from a briefcase on the credenza below the safe. She was listening to General Rosewall on her scud while admiring the photo of her child on the wall.

“Rousseau, are you there?”

“Yes. Yes. You were saying?”

“I was saying that I had someone check out the hospital in Mumbai and that’s as much as I know. Nagasi somebody or somebody Nagasi. So just stay close to Hitchcock. We need to

Minister McGivney sat against the arm and back of a red and blue sofa elegantly beaded in pink pearls listening on his scud and became so agitated he began picking at the pearls. “I see. … … Very interesting, and bothersome. Nagasi you say and the Indian Jungle.” He hesitated, deciding whether or not to verbalize his thoughts. “For years we’ve heard rumors about a tribe of wild black people in the Jungles of India who could never be found and were never vaccinated. We always put that down as active imaginations running amuck.”

McGivney started to end the conversation when another matter occurred to him. “Do you remember me mentioning a professor last week? … Yes, he’s the one. I’m thinking that he might be interested in Mr. Nagasi and his so-called connection with India. … Yes, right away. And one more thing, find out if that bitch Rousseau knows about Nagasi.”

The Minister clicked off and looked across the room at the Pope who appeared angry. “You didn’t mention the Smotecal Decretum, Robert. That must be our priority.