Cameron Poe: Red Agenda

It was the biggest news story since the assassination of JFK. Sukudo sat in his robe and couldn’t believe what he was hearing the next morning. It was the fifth time the story had been played in as many minutes.

The president was dead. The White House at 5:35 a.m. reported that the president of the United States was found dead in the Oval Office. Unconfirmed reports had it as a massive heart attack due to the stress he had been under since the protests in Moscow. Other sources had it as a suicide.

Sukudo leaned back in his chair. It was unbelievable. There was no doubt in his mind that the man had killed himself. He didn’t expect it, but it accomplished the same goal. Now the country could get back on track. A new leader meant new policies, and he would be there to help guide them along. It had been a long, arduous process, but now he felt secure that the United States was going to sail a better course.

His phone rang. He picked it up. “Yes.”

There was a hiss, and immediately he recognized it as a ship-to-shore connection. Booker was at the other end. “Kenneth, are you there?”

“Book? Yeah, Book, I’m here. What do you got? You’re not home yet?”

“No. Still three days out. I have a situation.”

“What is it?”

“Survivors.”

“Survivors? From the sub?”

“Yup.”

“Who?”

“Nicholas Shaw.”

“Excellent! That is great news!”

“A woman, Marina Romanov.”

“Okay, no clue who she is.”

“And one Captain Andri Stemovich.”

Sukudo was dumbfounded.

Several moments passed before Booker spoke. “I thought that one would tongue-tie you.”

As far as Scandinavian fishermen go, Van Hutton was one of the best. He had fished the waters around the Arctic and White Seas for eighteen years, and every time brought in a good haul. Today would be no different.

With his small boat chugging away, he turned her around and headed back toward the coast of Finland. His nets were in, and his golden lab, Walker, panted at his side, enjoying the time he spent with his master.

The small wooden dinghy was only a hundred meters away when he first noticed it. A sail had been raised, but it was not properly tied off and served little use. It bobbed helplessly in the waves, and instantly Van knew that whoever was in it had to be in some trouble.

Coming alongside he saw the half-swamped craft’s one occupant. The man didn’t even look up. He was either frozen solid or transfixed and waiting to die of exposure. The empty ration cartons strewn across the boat looked to be at least a week’s worth of food and water. The occupant had obviously been in the sea longer.

After tying the dinghy alongside, Van stepped in the boat and removed the hood from the jacket, exposing the man’s head. It was the first time the stranger even acknowledged his presence. He seemed genuinely surprised and half-crazy. “Excuse me. Do you speak English?”

Van nodded yes.

“Then could you take me to the nearest port?”

Again, Van nodded yes. “What is your name, and what are you doing out here alone?”

“George. My name is George. This is how I’m wasting the first part of my retirement,” he said. “You wouldn’t know what a hot dog is, would you?”

© 2017 Cameron Poe

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eBook ISBN: 978-1-54390-975-3