A Thousand Years of Darkness: a Thriller by Charles W. Sasser Page B

stove in her jeans and red shirt, a spoon in one hand, tending the pans. It had been a long time since a woman cooked for him. It was a nice feeling, even under the circumstances.
    There was an old-fashioned percolator coffee pot on the back burner. She shook it, found it half-full and turned on the burner.
    “You didn’t answer me. Do you think I’m in danger?” she asked without looking at him.
    “You said this runs deep. How deep?”
    “Did you ever watch Jerry Baer’s show?”
    “He was some kind of conspiracy nut.”
    “I suppose that makes me a conspiracy nut as well. I telephoned Zenergy News this morning. Carl Patton is running Best of Jerry next week with a special on Thursday for the funeral. Judge Galliano will fill in until I return to New York. I fully intend to take up where Jerry left off by continuing to expose these people for what they really are.”
    “Which would be?”
    “Marxists,” she said without embarrassment. “Communists.”
    Nail shook his head. “I thought the Cold War was over.”
    She was stirring beans with a spoon. She seemed unoffended by his disbelief, as though she had been through it before.
    “Did you know Virginia erected a statue honoring Josef Stalin?” she asked.
    “You’re kidding, right?”
    “Communists are cool these days. Public schools ban American flag T-shirts, but you can wear one with Che Guevara on it. Actress Cameron Diaz toured Central America carrying a purse with a Soviet red star on it and the slogan ‘Save the People.’”
    He shrugged. “Hollywood is full of dimwits.”
    He recalled that Rupert had left a Che Guevara T-shirt in Jamie’s closet.
    “Those who don’t know history are doomed to repeat it,” she said gently, as though trying not to indict him for his ignorance of current world affairs. “Most everyone thought we had beat the Marxists, but they never give up. That’s what Jerry was doing—educating America on our history and where we’re heading.”
    She tasted the beans. “Do you have condiments?”
    “In the cupboard to your right. Both the salt and pepper.”
    She had a nice smile, a little sad because of things, but still nice.
    “We used to view communists as dangerous to the Free World,” she continued. “Now, communists are teaching our kids history. Kids know about ‘social justice,’ but they’ve never heard of the gulags or the mass slaughter in the Soviet Union, China, Cambodia, and wherever else Marxism is implemented. They can give you the name of Michael Jackson’s monkey and the titles of Lady GaGa’s albums, but most of them never heard of Vladimir Lenin or Pol Pot. All the networks are producing programs commemorating the anniversary of Michael Jackson’s death while America is burning and the emperor is fiddling.”
    Nail thought her a bit melodramatic. The United States was the only permanent, dependable nation in the world. It was too big and powerful to fail. America would never accept communism.
    “Do you want to eat on the sofa?” Sharon asked.
    He got up from the sofa to take a seat at the table. “I go formal when I have guests.”
    “Which by the looks of things isn’t too often.”
    She dipped tamales and beans on his plate, took a share for herself and sat down. He started to dig in, but she stopped him with a sharp look.
    “What?”
    “Let’s say grace.” She bowed her head and took Nail’s hand in hers. He hesitated, then bowed his head. He hadn’t talked to the Big Guy in a long time.
    She finished the blessing and let Nail’s hand go. “Now, we eat. Today is Sunday, right? Don’t you go to church?”
    “I’m usually working on Sunday.” He kept his head and eyes lowered as he ate determinedly past the lie. Coffee percolated. Sharon jumped up and poured two cups. “Cream and sugar?”
    “Black and hot.”
    She walked to the frig and seemed to brace herself for another foray inside it. Sighing, she turned back. “I suppose I’ll have mine black and hot