Free America's Trust by Murray McDonald Page A

that the chorus of small explosions that destroyed every component of the jammers’ existence would be undetectable other than to the native ground dwellers. Moles were going to have a bitch of a day.
    With his job complete, he closed his laptop and turned his attention to the twelve highly skilled bodyguards who had joined him on the private jet bound for the Caribbean. A new life awaited them all - monies they could only have dreamed and a lifestyle they had all had to watch from the fringes. The many months of planning to ensure that all the men on duty that day were party to his plan had not been easy. Even then, he was amazed at how well it had worked. The president and prime minister’s guards had literally just walked off their posts and joined him at the small airport, leaving their leaders fully exposed to the world around them.
    “Na zdorove!” he raised his glass of champagne and joined the rest of the men in a round of celebration.
    “Na zdorove!” they chanted in unison.

***
     
    Pyotr tried desperately to shut the door but it was too late -- the helmet camera had seen the worst and the scene would have been recorded for posterity.
    The sight of the Russian president being ridden by a young woman with a strap-on to the rhythmic beat of the bass music was not one that Pyotr ever wanted to reimage again. He averted his eyes only for them to fall on the Prime Minster on the other side of the room with another two young women, one of whom looked too young, certainly younger than Pyotr’s sixteen-year-old daughter. Anger raged instantly and it was only thanks to his trooper that he managed not to shoot the Prime Minister himself.
    As the doors began to close, the president became aware of the intrusion.
    “What the fuck!” he screamed, attempting to regain any semblance of dignity.

***
     
    As the scene played out on the screen, Dmitry Simonov issued a dictat, “Nobody leaves this room!”
    The sight before him as their country lay on the brink of war sickened him like no other. A sight that, if leaked, would damage the reputation of one of the world’s greatest ever nations and a nation that he loved above all else.
    “Get me a private line with those buffoons!” he demanded, his voice trembling with rage.
    After a heated thirty-minute conversation during which the president and the prime minister pleaded innocence and claimed that some type of drug must have been used on them, it was clear there was no option but for them to resign. The defense minister would maintain control while urgent elections were organized.
    As he composed himself for his next call, Dmitry wondered where the guards were, why the comms didn’t work, why two men that barely tolerated each other would be partaking in an orgy together. None of it made any sense but they were where they were.
    His call went straight through to the ambassador, who listened without a word while the defense minister explained the situation. When he finished, the ambassador remained silent.
    “Hello?”
    “I’m sorry but are you fucking kidding me?” asked the ambassador eventually.
    “I’m most certainly not!”
    “You want me to tell the Americans, while they believe we have all but declared war on them, that you, the defense minister, have removed our elected leaders from office and taken control?!”
    “It’s not like that,” he argued, realizing how it could be construed incorrectly.
    “The nukes will be flying before I end my call,” the ambassador said, exasperated at the stupidity of his colleague.
    “So what would you suggest?” Dmitry asked more timidly, realizing just how much he had gotten carried away.
    “Get President Chernov on the phone to the US president as a matter of urgency!”

Chapter 12
     
     
    The White House
    Situation Room
     
    “Mr. President, we have the Russian president on the line,” the Secretary of State said, hiding his excitement well as he passed the call across.
    “Mr. President,” boomed Jack in