No one in the room moved. They were all in shock.
“Producer! Now!” he screamed and they jumped. Finally a young man at the control terminal pressed the intercom.
“Jason get up here,” he said nervously. “We have a situation up here. We need you up here now.”
Down on the studio floor, the producer looked ten feet above to the control booth. He could see that something wasn’t right but couldn’t tell exactly what was going on. He motioned for Sharia to continue and he walked up to the booth. When he entered he saw three people in black masks. They were all holding pistols, generally into the direction of his employees.
“Sir, what I need you to do is keep your people calm. I’m sorry to say, but we’re taking over your little broadcast. We have something we need to tell your viewers.”
The producer, who had never really seen a gun in real life, let alone had one pointed at him, started to shake. He wasn’t one for confrontation, but his shock wouldn’t allow him to process what he was seeing.
“What are you doing?” he stammered. “What do you want?”
The man in the mask stepped towards him and put his gun into the balding producer’s face.
“I told you. We’re taking over your broadcast. What I need for you to do is make sure that your people stay calm.”
Suddenly, his brain caught up to the moment and he ordered his employees to sit and remain calm. He assured them, although he didn’t know this for himself, that they would be all right if they cooperated.
The second team’s leader keyed his radio and said, “We’re in position.”
Mike saw the man first. When Sharia noticed that Wilson’s attention was elsewhere she followed his gaze to the corner of the room. She stared at the intruder and began to hyperventilate. He was tall, dressed in all black, wore a bulletproof vest, and was carrying a large pistol. Mike recognized its type at once. The Desert Eagle’s muzzle was a dead giveaway. Mike immediately knew what was going to happen. It was strange, but a surge of calm came over him. Subconsciously, he must have expected this.
“Something’s wrong Patton!” Jennifer screamed at her husband, who had gone to the kitchen for another beer. While he was away Mike had looked away from the camera over at the corner of the studio. The camera changed into a wide shot and she could see the interviewer’s shocked face.
The camera panned further back, revealing that intruders were in the studio. The man in front was holding a large handgun. He stood tall and erect, reminding Patton of an Olympic fencer. There was no time to get to the studio, but he called the police. He knew it would do no good, however. There just wasn’t time. He was going to watch his friend die on live television.
The leader motioned for Sharia to exit her chair and for Mike to stand. Sharia bolted from her chair immediately, but Mike sat there, erect and proud. He knew they were going to kill him and refused to give them the satisfaction of showing fear.
“Suit yourself,” the man with the gun said, walking behind Wilson’s chair. Guessing where Wilson’s spine was located, the man aimed and fired a bullet through the back of the chair. Mike arched in pain, but it would be the last voluntary movement he would make.
“Oh my God!” they both yelled as the man fired the shot. Jennifer jumped into Patton, closing her eyes.
Patton was unfazed with the collision. He just sat calmly and watched the man with the gun. He felt strangely calm, his jaw set rigid with rage. He stood, steeling himself against the horror he was about to watch.
“Go upstairs Honey. I don’t want you to watch this.”
Jennifer, who was weeping now, stood and walked up the stairs.
The force of the bullet pushed Mike forward but he wasn’t able raise himself back up. The bullet had severed his spinal cord in between his kidneys. He would be paralyzed for the remainder of his short life. Two more black-clad people walked into the studio and stood like sentries beside their leader.
“We are here to set right a wrong that was inflicted upon this city last night. This man was illegally elected.”
The tall, imposing figure paused. The silence hung over the moment like a shroud—both for those present and those viewing through their televisions.
“The city of Blue Creek elected David Asher for three years. This so called ‘recall’ election was illegal and undemocratic. We cannot abide by the results and know that Mr. Wilson is unwilling to acquiesce. Therefore, we have to force him and his followers to do what’s right.”
Another pause.
The masked figure stepped forward and grabbed Mike Wilson by the hair and pulled him straight in the chair. Mike’s face was pale and unresponsive.
“We do not, in any way endorse David Asher. Mr. Asher, this is a warning to you. If you violate the people’s voice and the democratic process, this same punishment will be meted out to you also.”
The man pulled his pistol and held it to the back of Mike’s head. Without any further dialogue, he unceremoniously pulled the trigger.
Patton forced himself to watch the barbaric act. He stared daggers at the figure through his television. At one point he nearly lost control and punched his fist through the screen. Instead he just stood there, his chest heaving.
He had felt this emotion before—the sense of righteous indignation. That was another time and in another country, but the feeling was the same. He watched the mayhem that followed the gunshot. The perpetrators hurriedly left the studio. Witnesses ran in and out of frame. Finally, the video feed was cut, replaced by the studio’s logo. Still rigid from shock, Patton stood there, his eyes still glued to the screen. He silently vowed that he would find out who did this and he would get revenge for his friend.
The next evening, an ashen-faced Governor greeted Blue Creek television viewers. He appeared to be traumatized by what had happened to Mike Wilson. This was a testament to the makeup artist. The hardest thing for Asher was to feign shock and anger. He found himself having to stifle a grin.
“I come to you tonight to express my disgust with these animals and what they did to Mike Wilson, your Governor-elect. He was my political foe, yes, and he and I went the rounds, but that was politics. Behind the scenes, Mr. Wilson and I had a cordial relationship.
“These people will be brought to justice, I assure you,” Asher said, a look of grim determination on his face. “This is particularly devastating to those of you who elected him to be the new governor. This really complicates our situation here in Blue Creek.
“Mr. Wilson was set to take office soon and we were supposed to begin the transition next week. Since that is no longer possible, I will retain office until a new election can be held. Until that point, I cannot relinquish this office at this time for the sake of stability.”
Anna stressed to him that he use the term “this” rather than “my” to show his deep regret for Wilson’s demise.
“But I assure you that a new election will be held just as soon as Mr. Wilson’s supporters, or anyone else, can come up with the necessary signatures and paperwork for a replacement candidate. Those arrangements for a new election are being made as we speak so I expect to hear from Mr. Wilson’s people soon.”
Patton was barely able to watch the broadcast, but he was glad that he did. He mentally accepted Asher’s challenge. He picked up his phone and dialed a number. It rang just once on his end before Frank answered.