Abuse of Power - Michael Savage [117]
Wickham said nothing and the gun touched Jack’s back again as a hand on his shoulder forced him down into the chair.
“True regime change is rarely peaceful,” Soren said with affected regret. “We may manage it here in America every four years or so without bloodshed, but all we get for our trouble are the same Zionist puppets with the same policies that are destroying this country and the world. As you know, I had high hopes for our current President, but he’s turned out to be quite a disappointment to all of us on many different levels. So if we’re to succeed in bringing our own vision to fruition, we need to shake things up a bit. The Hand of Allah will help us do that. It’s 1933 all over again. You end the Depression in Germany by firing up the masses, having them reclaim their wealth from the Jews. You end the threat to America’s homeland by scaring the masses, assuring them they will be safe from future attacks if they restore Arab land taken by the Jews.”
“Helluva role model you’ve chosen,” Jack remarked.
“You’re missing the point.”
“No, I’ve got it. Scapegoating works. I experienced that firsthand.”
“This is not scapegoating,” Soren said. “It’s about forging a strategic alliance with someone who can control hundreds of millions of people and billions of dollars in resources. If you took just a moment to listen to him, you’d realize that Faakhir Zuabi is a great visionary and a great leader. And I think our partnership with him will be of benefit to all of us. Including you.”
Jack balked. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’re a wonderful communicator, Jack. You have a friendly, trustworthy manner about you, but you can be a bulldog when you need to and people respond to it.”
“That’s all in the past, thanks to you.”
“Something that can be easily remedied. What if, in the face of devastation, you were to become the spokesperson for America? Our spokesperson.”
“Wait—you want me to join you?”
Soren shrugged. “It’s either that or die.”
Sara stood now, her eyes blazing. “You wanks are certifiably insane.”
Hearing that expression come from Sara’s mouth shocked Jack nearly as much as anything else he’d heard here.
Soren offered her a patient smile as the bodyguard nudged her back into the chair. “We’re merely pragmatists, my dear. You cannot blame anyone for that.” He looked at Jack again. “So what do you say, my friend. Are you with us or no?”
Jack stared at him, the urge to leap across the table still burning in his gut. “Up yours.”
Soren sighed. “I expected as much. But I had to try.” He rose from his chair and gestured. “Gentlemen, shall we adjourn to the parlor upstairs? I believe Mr. Hatfield and his lovely friend here have an appointment.”
Chairs scraped back around the table, the men all glancing at Jack and Sara as they filed out past the thug with the Glock and disappeared from sight.
Soren, however, stopped just shy of the doorway and turned. “It’s a shame, Jack. You and I have been at odds for so long. Imagine what we could do if we were to come together for a common cause.”
Jack reiterated his earlier words by raising a fist and showing Soren his middle finger.
Soren stood there for a moment, smiling almost sadly, then stepped out of sight.
Now Jack turned his head toward the bodyguard behind him. “Real nice people you associate with. So what now?”
“I believe I can answer that,” a familiar voice said from across the room.
Jack jerked his head around as Adam Swain stepped in through the opposite doorway, accompanied by two more of his men, including the ape with his magic wand, who grinned at Jack as he walked into the room.
Wonderful.
Jack reached under the table and gently squeezed Sara’s hand. It was a signal for her to wait for his move. He had no idea if she’d gotten the message, but she squeezed back firmly and that was good enough.
She hadn’t even flinched when Swain entered.
Good girl,