Publisher's Synopsis
Ghosts of Camelot 1963
A Novella
by: Horus Michael
Copyright (c)(R) 2024 Horus Michael, All rights reserved.
(Fiction, 6x9).
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Chapter 7: Heather
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The next morning I awoke to a phone call on my answering machine. It was from CIA. They said I was now declassified from Official Records, and gave me an address to meet someone to discuss this further.
I was only classified because I write future events that no one else can explain. I was not in legal trouble, unless one counts breaking the Laws of Physics.
After breakfast I took a stroll outside and to the local shopping mall. This was about a mile away from home. I was instructed to meet a blond woman wearing a red silk top and stiletto pumps near a computer gaming store. Her name was Heather.
I arrived in ten minutes. There were two females actually, both wearing the same outfit but the second one was in midnight black and Asian.
I asked the Asian chick first. "Excuse me, are you Heather?"
The Asian female smiled and lured me outside to the metallic dumpsters.
I followed the woman. She stopped near a metallic storage bin and removed her pumps. I asked her name again. She turned slightly. Then she spun her free leg in my direction and knocked my glasses off my face. As I tried looking for my eyeglasses, the woman faced me and jump-kicked me in a forward stance, knocking me down and then landed her foot against my neck. As I tried to speak, she placed her foot against my mouth, silencing me.
"No," she said quietly. "I am Chinese Intelligence Agent. Who is this Heather?"
I turned my gaze to my left and noticed a blond woman running towards the Asian female. The blond woman jump-kicked in the air and knocked the Asian chick off of me. They fought for about two minutes, exchanging blows and kicks. I gathered myself together and reached for a rock on the pavement, and then I threw it in the Asian girl's direction. She ducked out of the way, but collided into the metallic bin when the blond woman kicked her into it. Then she shut the bin door onto the Asian woman.
"Michael? I am Heather," she said panting. "Can we go someplace safer?"
I followed Heather to a clearing, lined with trees, white metallic tables with chairs, and an occasional gray dumpster.
Heather mentioned that she is CIA and that the Chinese Intelligence Service was monitoring my communications since I was sending unencrypted messages to POTUS 47. The President was in a trade war with China via his tariff blackmail scheme.
"May we walk a bit? I don't like Foreign Intelligence keeping eyes on us when we're stationary." Heather walked towards the trees.
"So, how long have you been with the Agency?" I asked her.
"Oh, not long. My mother knew you when you were Jack, POTUS 35. Things were darker then, better than now," she added.
I looked over Heather's visage. She was four inches shorter than me. "So how many Bots serve President Poker, now?" I asked her.
"Oh, they're almost everyone. The only human ones are secretarial and a few Secret Service Agents. CIA does employ Bots. I am not a Bot, but, if you want I can show you the difference between Bots and a real woman," She chided.
