Incarna

“Yes Vitaly, I know, but what can be done my friend?” George stopped himself from mimicking the very strong accent of his Russian counterpart. He was shocking after a few drinks and his closest friends did try to look after him when he relaxed with them, but sometimes! He wasn’t an angry drunk nor overly stupid, more of the complaining type and the worst was he didn’t mind who he complained to.

George wasn’t drunk now and he wouldn’t allow himself a drink till all this was over. He knew how some of the stupid decisions of past administrations had been influenced by being under the influence. He wasn’t going to be remembered for that sort of stuff up!

It was late afternoon along the east coast of the US and George was dog tired. Occasionally during the long afternoons events he had gone out on the stern of the cruiser and chatted with Susan over the phone. He could see the Forest gently rolling with the slight swell some fifty yards off and his mind was washed clear by the sounds of the sea and the husky beauty of Susan’s voice. Oh god, how he longed to be naked in her arms!

“Yes Vitaly, I can assure you we have had absolutely nothing to do with this. Yes, yes, certainly! I’ll get our German liaison, Florian Berg, to keep you informed. Yes, goodbye!” George sighed heavily and tossed the phone to his secretary Petersen, who then tossed another to him, “Australia!” George nodded his thanks and thumbed open the line. 

“Yes Minister Barden, George Deitmann here!” George listened intently to the very cultured voice on the other end of the phone as Petersen held up an ePad with Barden’s biography for George to read. Another fuckin Rhodes scholar, he thought as he nodded abstractedly in time to the voice slowly gaining an identity in his mind.

This guy was as black as they come. Family had walked out of the desert during the middle of last century. He was the third generation of his family to benefit from the fuckin Australian free education system and gain university qualifications, and the second to hold a government position. Named after an Afghan camelier friend of his grand father. “Thank you for making the time to keep me informed personally Mr Barden. Arban, certainly, yes thank you!” George thumbed the phone closed and handed it to Petersen.

Aubrey stood nearby on a second phone, “well at least we have everyone working together!”

“A simoom! They think someone has created a simoom to cover their activities. Fuckin christ Aub! First lightning strikes from angels. Genies riding dust storms and now weather control. Fuck it! I’m finished for the day! I’m going fishing, call me only if you’re dying!”

Aub smirked, “and I’ll make sure it’s Petersen who calls you, yes?” “You always were a smart arse Aubrey!”

George turned toward where the Forest lay at anchor on the edge of the main channel. He fished there regularly and always caught dinner! Aubrey came and stood close at his elbow. “Go on clear off, I’ll cover for you for a couple of hours. You can fish, feed and fuck in peace! I’m sure the russkies won’t launch an invasion just because you’re not watching!”

George turned and smiled, “I owe you another one, but let me sleep through till dawn if possible. Petersen will have set up the shift roster already, so unless it’s world war three, you and I can both sleep.” “Maybe,” and Aub nodded toward the Forest, “now get outa here!” George slapped him on the back, turned and took the stairs down to the boat deck of his cruiser. Three electric hydroquads were parked facing the stern ramp. Beside the outer ones two security agents stood with helmets in hand and submachine guns slung over their shoulders.

George nodded to them, picked up his helmet and vest and swung into the saddle of the quad. His helmets head up display came on as he clipped the chin strap and secured his vest. Icons for the Cruiser, the quads and the Forest showed their relative positions. In the top left corner a small window showed the world from the Watch Officers comm helmet. The Office was busy but no more than usual. Nothing else had happened at the Ukrainian intervention site.

George thumbed the on switch, waited for the indicators to turn green and drove down the ramp into the darkening waters of Rogue Harbour. As the quad raised its wheels he increased his speed, then opened the throttle wide and sped down the harbour jumping the slow swell pushing in from the open Atlantic. His security kept in close but they knew the routine. A ten to twenty minute spin to get the office out of his system and then back to the Forest clear headed and ready to catch dinner.

As they swung back toward the Forest his proximity beacon tripped the deck lights and his work of art lit up the evening darkness. The strains of his welcome drifted across to him and he chuckled as the first notes of Coplands 'Fanfare for the Common Man' reached out to him.

Cheeky bitch! He smiled to himself as he saw Susan come up on deck and wave to him. George throttle back as he approached the stern and the landing platform dropped down for him to drive up onto. The wheels of the Hydroquad dropped down as his sank and it transitioned. The was no room to drive anywhere but he always parked with the wheels down. It was more stable in case he had to move the Forest and the quad could always be tied down for sailing through average seas.

George didn’t sail average seas. He didn’t do anything that was average. He looked up into Susan’s smiling face and smiled back to the only woman he felt was his equal and often his better. My sanctuary, he sighed as he climbed aboard and kissed her.