Free The Last Election by Kevin Carrigan Page A

committee, where it died. That embarrassed Bonsam, and he did not like to be embarrassed. He always had spies watching her, but since she was selected as Clark’s VP running mate, he cranked up the surveillance on her several notches. He knew her every move and he knew where she was going to be even before she did.
    Bonsam felt his temperature rise, so he got up from his chair and walked around the room. He desperately wanted to avoid yet another bout with the demons that came to him in the visions. “She is starting to get to me,” he said. “I have to stop her.” He walked to the thermostat on the wall and cranked up the air conditioning to help himself cool down. His mind felt cluttered. As he sat back down at his desk, the clutter in his mind was quickly wiped away and was replaced by absolute clarity. He knew what had to be done.
    He picked up his phone and punched in a number. A moment later he heard, “Yes, sir!” in the receiver.
    “Jorge, contact your team leader in Manhattan. I have another mission for you,” said the president.

Chapter 19
     
    Clay was extremely happy to be leaving Ypsilanti. Ypsitucky is more like it . He headed up South Huron Street with his windows down. The air was refreshing, especially after sitting in Colonel Lane’s hovel half the night. He pulled his truck into a Speedway gas station to top off the tank for the ride back down I-94 to his apartment.
    Clay knew that Jorge Delgado would be interested in hearing the report on his meeting with Lane. Delgado had instructed Clay to contact him as soon as the meeting broke. Clay thought about Delgado for a minute. He couldn’t explain it, but something about Delgado had always rubbed him the wrong way. Sure, Delgado was the person who made him a member of the team that would carry out a dream assignment. Still, he never fully trusted Delgado.
    Fuck George! Delgado hated it when Clay called him George. He decided he would contact Delgado when he was damned good and ready. He finished filling his tank and screwed the gas cap back into place, then made his way into the store. He paid the old coot behind the counter for the gas, and since he was feeling lucky for finally getting to meet Lane, he bought a Mega Millions lottery ticket.
    Clay felt the need to wash the funk off his skin from shaking hands with an untold number of rednecks that evening, so he headed for the restroom. He washed his hands vigorously. He seriously considered checking himself for ticks when he got home. Once he felt that his hands were adequately sanitized, he cupped them together and pulled a big splash of water to his face. He did it again and then looked into the mirror. For a moment he was taken aback when he saw his own reflection.
    Clay felt that he looked very different since he got his hair cut in preparation for tonight’s meeting. His dark black hair had been shaved close to his head so that only stubble remained. That was Jorge’s idea. Delgado said that it made his appearance more convincing because it made him look like a skinhead. “Plus,” Delgado added, “you can’t go in to meet Colonel Lane looking all nappy.” Clay shook his head. Jorge is such an asshole.
    As he continued looking into the mirror, he felt a strong pang of sorrow deep in the pit of his stomach. He found it hard to look at himself in the mirror sometimes, because he looked just like his father. This always took him back to the painful memories of his childhood.
    Suddenly his mind flashed back to one of the typical nights when his father’s friends would come over and hang out in the garage, drinking Jack Daniel’s and behaving like bullies on a playground. On these nights, his father would always break out his guitar. Wade Jackson, in his own mind, was an equal to the legends of country western music. He often bragged that he was related to Alan Jackson, but once you heard him butcher It’s Five O’clock Somewhere , it was quite evident that he and Alan were not of the