Free A Thousand Years of Darkness: a Thriller by Charles W. Sasser Page A

held up until he arrived with his bodyguard. Wiedersham met them personally to escort them to the conference room.
    Trout thought Zuniga one scary-looking dude. Brushy gray brows arched like the overhang of caves inside which lurked dangerous black eyes that coldly surveyed his surroundings like carnivores casting for prey. A broad nose. Meaty lips that resembled bloated leeches and looking as if they might drop off his face if he smiled. His accent was thick and sinister. Somewhere in eastern Europe from which region Christians thought the Antichrist might appear. Trout always thought the Antichrist would be younger.
    It was said the wealthy financier required no invitation to the White House; he dropped in unannounced anytime he felt like it.
    Zuniga and Wiedersham walked past Trout as if he were a permanent fixture, like a wall or a door. Trout obediently fell in behind. The burly bodyguard looked him over suspiciously before taking up his station outside the door to the conference. No sound leaked out of the room. Trout started to return to his office. Wiedersham stopped him.
    “Hold up, Dennis. Mr. Zuniga, I’d like to introduce Dennis Trout, my chief of staff as well as my sister’s husband.”
    Zuniga’s dark eyes appraised Trout. His expression remained unchanged.
    “Zee next congressman from the state of Illinois?” he said in his thick accent.
    A thrill of delight ran up Trout’s spine. He actually blushed. Joe must have put in a word for him. “Well, sir. Not yet.”
    “Are you zee team player, Dennis Trout?”
    Trout glanced gratefully at Wiedersham. “I like to think I am, sir.”
    “Zen you most certainly will be considered to be zee next congressman from Illinois. Someone from my office will contact you soon with zee details.”
    He entered the conference room. Wiedersham tarried with Trout. “You can’t lose if Zuniga funds your campaign,” he whispered. “How do you suppose Anastos became President?”
    Zuniga’s bodyguard held the door open for the majority leader.
    “Well, come on, Trout, for God’s sake,” Wiedersham chided. “You’re on the team now. Act like it. And don’t disappoint me.”
    Pleasure and surprise flooded Trout’s soul, temporarily cleansing it of the resentment stored against his abusive and self-centered brother-in-law. He was so grateful he could have kissed the man’s hand. Or his ass—except he was already doing that.
    Trout felt as though his rear end was wagging like Reggie’s as he trailed Wiedersham into the mahogany-paneled room where Zuniga had already claimed his seat at the head of the table. Handout reports, ballpoint pens, laptop computers, coffee cups and cocktail glasses garnished each place at the table, arranged earlier by Trout himself, who at the time never suspected he would be invited to use them. Wiedersham impatiently indicated a place for Trout to sit with him near George Zuniga at the head of the table.
    Trout sat down, feeling awkward and out of place but at the same time immensely thrilled. Wait until he told Marilyn. He himself was a player now, not just some glorified gofer. Dennis Trout was on his way up. His toast was finally getting buttered. Congressman Trout. He liked the feel of it on his tongue.
    Wiedersham stood up.
    “President Anastos sends his regards,” he announced, “but he cautions, along with Mr. Zuniga, I’m sure, that we not be too visible at this stage. FAD hasn’t been passed yet and Zenergy News is still snooping around—although, I must say, one fewer in force than a few days ago.”
    That elicited a round of restrained mirth. Trout joined in guiltily, realizing that the reference was to the death of talk show guru Jerry Baer, who had been the administration’s chief nemesis. Wiedersham spoke another minute or so in welcome and reminded everyone that all notes must be deposited in a burn bag before leaving the room. Then the congregation got down to business.
    Ground rules and objectives had apparently