isha was sitting in the chair by the window looking out over the view. Beau sensed her, heard her, and smelled her before he saw her. It was that same pleasing fragrance he remembered at the garage where she shot him.
She had not turned, and the only movement he had made was with the opening of his eyes and glancing at her. "So, you are still alive and you're here in my family's' hospital."
He notice the logo on the curtain and realized he was indeed in a hospital; a nice one. And it belonged to the House of Saud. The logo was prominent and meant to be seen by anyone who graced these rooms whether as client or visitor.
"It is a striking logo" he ventured.
"It's a very famous logo" she agreed seeing his eyes trained on the logo. You are very fortunate. Someone you may not even know personally has asked for your life. It was very important that we deliver you in as good as shape as possible. She is a person from the very state you are from."
Beaus' brain knotted into as tight a bunch as his forehead. "Who could he possibly know from Arkansas that would be interested in saving him alive" And for what"
"She is coming here to talk to you. She has asked to see you alone. So, do you have a relation with this woman who asks and pays handsomely for your life?"
Beau was at a loss. Who could she possibly be referring to?" And then the thought occurred to him. "Hillary Clinton?" He nearly retched again. "She must think I might possibly be instrumental in helping her in the acquisition the Hilton Bunker and related real properties" he thought to himself. "Huh! I'll die first!"
"Ah, so you have figured it out have you? Oh, by the way, my name is Aisha - one who is alive."
"And my name is Beau Adams" he responded. Then thinking to himself while noticing the nice fitting dress, "man, she sure is pretty!" On the pocket was a logo of a Wildcat. Even in his dazed state of being, he wondered at the logo, first dismissing it as a brand of clothing.
It seemed as if she was able to read his every thought. He hadn't spoken since he mentioned the logo, yet she had carried on the conversation as if he was singing like a canary. She broke into his thoughts again with "so, you also think I'm pretty. I'm told that is a compliment from among American men."
The door to the room opened and the doctor came in. "I think he'll be alright to move if you're not going far and the ride is not too rough. I'll dress his wounds and help him with his needs if you care to step out of the room."
Aisha walked out of the room closing the door behind her. The doctor helped Beau with his needs then helped him in into some different clothes. He then laid Beau down on the bed and said lowly, "your XD is under the blanket by your right hand with a full mag and one in the chamber. I've made contact with Doc Wilson. When you see him remind him what happens to ducks that swim in ice water."
The door opened quietly and the doctor continued "try to keep that bandage dry on your hand. Good luck." The doctor would be marked for death when the XD was discovered on the gurney. It was the last time he'd ever see him.
The gurney upon which he was moved out of doors was like riding a magic carpet. Smooth, quiet, comfortable. Outside, sunshine, fresh air, still on his back, . . . how was he going to be able to secure that pistol? And with this hand messed up and bandaged as it was.
That answer came quite quickly as the entire gurney was lifted into the huge white ambulance. An IV was placed into his arm and the next thing he knew, he had one arm secured to a heavy table with his pistol and six magazines placed in a row within an inch of each other, extending to the left of the gun.
As he roused, he raised his head, overcome with all he'd been through and the meds he'd had injected. He raised again and looked around being immediately confused. The room in which he had been placed was circular and having egress of 6 doors. Each door had a small window twenty four inches wide and twenty four inches tall.
Unbeknownst to him, he was under a powerful psychotic drug leaving him very susceptible to suggestion. The hall areas on the opposite sides of the doors were dark. From somewhere other than this room, he heard the voice of Hillary Clinton over a speaker. Beau cringed at the grating, awful sound of her voice like fingernails on a chalkboard.
The first words out of her mouth ruined any chance of him even considering co-operating with her. She explained "Beau, I'm here to help you. But first, I want to play a little game which is known by the name of Russian Roulette. You are familiar with the game . . . aren't you?
Beau didn't care for the direction this was going. She continued. "Lying beside your firearm are six magazines. Only one of them have a live round in it. The rest are duds. Do you understand?
Beau remained stoic, never moving or indicating anything to her. She started again. "I take it you do understand. Do you know who General Sherman Randolph is? Again, Beau held his peace.
A loud buzzer sounded and a light came on illuminating the area behind the door to his left. In it was the General. A shadow next to him indicated someone was raising a pistol to his head. Beau sat there in shock at seeing his personal friend General Randolph threatened in this way. Then the light went out.
A light came on behind a different door and Aisha was standing there. She promptly opened the door and walked in. "Hello Beau" she greeted. She had a warm smile which complimented a different dress, but still bearing the House of Saud logo as well as the Wildcat logo.
"Secretary of State Ms. Clinton is going to play a little game with you in an attempt to discover the depths of your integrity. After that game is over, you will be rewarded according to your performance."
Beaus' confusion was growing deeper than ever. Aisha continued. "The firearm on the table in front of you is not loaded. Each magazine has one bullet. But, there is only one magazine with a live bullet in it. A light will come on and your job is to eliminate the one who is threatening the other person. Do you understand?"
Again, Beau made no indication either to the affirmative or negative. He had no idea as to the game and did not know how he was going to perform with his hand so badly messed up. And to top it all off, his left hand was strapped to the table securely from the elbow to the wrist. What they thought he could possibly do in that predicament was anyone's guess.
A hood similar to those used for welding was brought in and placed on his head, and instantly he could see what he had not seen before. It was akin to a shooting gallery, and it greatly enhanced the poor features observed before through the thick glass. They were going to test his integrity; his veracity in holding to what was the most good and moral.
What she said when she walked out the door really rattled him. She said "be sure to save the last shot for yourself"
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