title?’
‘Excuse me?’
Her azure eyes blazed violet as her temper rose. ‘Go away, little man, before I eat you.’
Hernandez blushed, choked on his retort, then, seeing the almost maniacal look in the girl’s eye, decided it was best just to leave.
Ben Merchant approached, snorting a quick hit of cocainelaced BLISS from a designer thimble. ‘Well, darlin’, what do you think?’
‘Pimps and pawns. There’s no one here who could fill our bill. I need a real power broker, someone with some backbone, someone I don’t have to constantly manipulate like a marionette. Powerful and rich, Benjamin. Filthy rich.’
Merchant grinned. ‘I know just the man.’
The handsome jet-setter with the oily black ponytail took his time licking the olive from the redhead’s size 47-D cleavage, allowing his right hand to grope beneath the woman’s miniskirt.
At only twenty-three, Lucien Mabus, son of the late billionaire, Peter Mabus Jr. was already wealthier and more feared than his deceased father. He had more money than he could spend in three lifetimes and met more women than he could possibly bed… and now he was bored.
What Lucien Mabus yearned for was a challenge.
The adrenaline junkie’s eyes followed Ben Merchant as he approached from across the room. On the gun lobbyist’s arm was the most captivating woman he had ever laid eyes upon.
‘Lucien, dear boy, imagine running into you here.’
Lucien retracted his hand from beneath the redhead’s skirt. ‘Cut the bullshit, Merchant. My yacht’s been docked here all week. Introduce me to the lady.’
‘I’m sorry… Lucien Mabus, this is Lilith Aurelia. Lilith, Lucien Mabus, president and CEO of Mabus Tech Industries.’
Lucien extended his hand.
Lilith shook it, then inhaled its scent. ‘Be careful, your date’s ovulating.’
Lucien’s laugh carried across the crowded bar. Turning to the embarrassed redhead, he shoved a hundred-dollar bill in her cleavage, and yelled, ‘Go the hell away!’
The redhead stormed off.
Lucien flashed Lilith a coy smile. ‘I like you. Ever been aboard a yacht?’
‘No.’
‘Join me for a drink. Merchant won’t mind, will you?’
‘Not at all. Got a full day tomorrow anyway. Watch out for this guy, Lilith, he’s a handful.’
‘Mmm… I hope so.’
Oval Office, The White House 11:43 a.m.
John Zwawa, the forty-seventh president of the United States, has made sacrifices to attain the highest office in the land. Entering the political arena after years as a human rights activist and heavy metal rocker has forced him to shorten his once shoulder-length blond hair, which now runs mostly gray. The thinly shaven goatee is gone too, as are the sideburns. The only remaining physical evidence of the president’s years as a musician are his tattoos. On his right bicep is an image of a leaping lion holding two drumsticks, on his left-a large Polish falcon grasping a banner inscribed with his children’s names.
The president enters the Oval Office to find Lilith Mabus hovering next to Alyssa Popov, the new director of the United States Geological Survey-Earthquakes Hazard Program.
‘Lilith, so sorry about Lucien.’
‘Thank you, John. Lucien was young, but drugs had taken their toll on his heart long ago.’ She tilts her head, accepting the formal peck on the cheek from a man she has slept with more than a dozen times, on two occasions with her late husband.
‘And Ms. Popov. I hear you’ve been busy at Yellowstone Park.’
‘You could say that, sir.’
‘I gather you two ladies know each other?’
‘Intimately.’ Lilith winks, enjoying the president’s blush.
‘So? What’s this meeting about? Next year’s midterm elections?’
‘No, John, it’s about the end of the world and the survival of humanity.’
Zwawa’s grin remains frozen on his face. ‘Lilith, I don’t have time for these-’
‘Show him, Alyssa.’
‘Computer, play program Popov-One.’
Along the far wall, the holographic image of the bookcase and fireplace reverts to a large floor-to-ceiling smart-screen.
For the next thirty minutes, the president of the United States is absorbed in the details of a Top-Secret UMBRA report.
‘Computer, end program. Shred Popov-One and all minutes of this meeting.’
A stunned John Zwawa sits head in hands at his desk, the weight of the world upon his shoulders. He whispers, ‘How could this be happening? Why wasn’t I told?’
Alyssa shook her head. ‘With everything civilization’s been through in the last three decades, Yellowstone’s never been more than a passing interest. It’s only because of recent breakthroughs measuring geothermal changes that we learned of an impending eruption.’
‘How soon?’
‘A decade or two, tops.’
The president loosens his collar. ‘I… I can’t breathe-’
‘Take it slowly, John.’
‘How bad will it be?’
‘Worse than you can possibly imagine,’ Alyssa says. ‘The explosion will release ten thousand times more debris than the Mount St. Helens explosion, instantly killing the surrounding population. The Midwestern states will become ground zero, wiping out our crops. Within a few days, the atmospheric debris will blot out the sun.’
‘And that, John,’ Lilith coos, ‘is when the shit really hits the fan. We’re looking at a volcanic winter, with global temperatures plunging as much as a hundred degrees. Power grids will fail, populations become isolated, the economy lurching to a standstill. Millions will perish during the first few weeks just from the cold. Roads will be impassable. Within a month or two, those who haven’t frozen to death will starve.’
‘Unfortunately, Lilith’s correct, sir. We’re talking major ice age here, make no mistake about it. This is the end of civilization on this world, at least for a very long time.’
‘And you say this can happen in a decade or two?’
‘Maybe less. When it does happen, we’ll have little to no warning.’
‘There must be something our scientists can do?’
‘We have teams working on it, sir. So far, nothing looks promising. You’re talking about a major volcanic hot spot. The last time one of these calderas erupted, it wiped out nearly every human being on the planet.’
‘Who else knows about this?’
‘Lilith’s people, a handful of scientists, that’s all for now.’
‘And that’s the way we want to keep it,’ Lilith says, her azure eyes staring through him. ‘We have one shot at saving our species, John, and only if we act now. Secrecy must be maintained at all costs, or all of us will die.’
President Zwawa reaches into his bottom drawer. Removes a flask and paper cup, his hands shaking as he pours himself a drink. ‘You’re talking about Mars Colony.’
‘Yes, sir. Mars has water, and water means life.’
‘Yes, but what kind of life? What future do we have on such a desolate planet?’
‘Sir, Project HOPE and our own scientists have put together an extensive plan for Mars colonization. As we speak, NASA’s geologists are working with HOPE to design a machine called an AGM, or Automated Greenhouse Machine. Powered by nuclear reactors, these mobile factories will produce vast quantities of perfluorocarbons- simple compounds of carbon and fluorine. In the right combination, these molecules are a thousand times more effective at trapping heat than carbon dioxide. Just a few parts per million of perfluorocarbons in the Martian air
