‘Damn it,” I cry. “The vice-president and the speaker are trying to impeach me for saving a terrorist and I can’t even say why I did it because I’m too busy trying to save the USA from the greatest cyber attack in global history.”
“Why are you using random italics everywhere?” my trusted aide Carolyn replies.
“I’ve no idea but you seem to be doing it as well.”
“It’s cool,” says James Patterson. “All my computers are set to do that.”
“Look on the bright side, Mr President,” my trusted aide Carolyn continues. “At least you’re not a president who is being threatened with impeachment for perjury and obstruction of justice. Or one who would have been in trouble with #MeToo.”
I straighten my tie and run my fingers through my hair. “You’re right. I’m President Jonathan Duncan, a former war hero. Not a draft dodger. Though I’m already sick of being all the things Bill Clinton would like to have been.”
James Patterson interrupts. “Let’s not go too heavy on all this psychological crap. Spoils the pace of the narrative. How about we just get on and introduce an assassin with great tits.”
* * *
Bach, the world’s deadliest assassin with the world’s best tits, eased her way through airport security. She had made it on to US soil. Bach was listening to Bach through her earbuds which is why she used the name Bach.
* * *
In another part of the world Suliman the former terrorist leader of Sons of Jihad was having sex with a prostitute.
* * *
“I’m loving these short chapters,” says Bill Clinton. “You make it look real easy to write any old bollox real fast.”
“What’s that?” says Patterson. “I thought you were writing these bits.”
“Hell no! I’m just here to provide a bit of dreary insider detail and to go on about how only a president a lot like I was can save American values of democracy, freedom ...
“Then it must be one of my 20,000 writers I’ve got holed up in a warehouse in Texas doing the work. I’ve just been playing golf with Donald Trump.”
* * *
America is about to be turned into the Dark Ages. No electricity, no hospitals, no military. All thanks to the world’s most sophisticated computer virus that has affected the whole country. I need to act. Fast. I turn left down one corridor, then go down the stairs past the White House bowling alley ...
“Jeez, Bill,” Patterson interrupts. “When you promised detail I was hoping for more than this.”
I ignore Patterson. I am on a roll. I quickly grow a beard, pop down town to see Mandy, the best friend of my wife who sadly died of cancer and was once voted 267th most attractive woman by the Seattle Sentinel. Mandy colours in my eyebrows. I am good to go. My disguise is control. No one will now recognise the President.
I push past 30,000 people and take my seat next to Augie, the man who used to be a terrorist and has now decided he doesn’t want to be a terrorist any more. He takes me down to the car lot to meet Nina, who is also a terrorist who doesn’t want to be a terrorist any more.
* * *
Bach plays Bach on her earbuds, adjusts her rack, takes aim and Nina’s head explodes.
* * *
“Oh no,” yells Augie, “Nina was the only person in the world who knew how to stop the virus activating in 12 hours.” Just then a team of trained mercenaries put us under concentrated fire. I take out my Glock and shoot two of them dead. I get in the car and escape unnoticed by driving at 80mph down the freeway while killing the remaining mercenaries with my Glock.
“I could have done that,” says Bill.
“Sure you could,” says James, who is busy watching people write for him.
I stop to have a blood transfusion for my rare blood condition, before flying a helicopter to Virginia. I am officially missing, though the suspense is rather ruined because almost everyone including the reader knows exactly where I am. I summon the heads of the Israeli, German and Russian governments to see me to warn them about the Dark Ages.
“The world is in deadly peril and you have to help,” I say. “And to make matters worse there is a traitor in the White House. Though almost certainly not the person Bill and James have been heavy-handedly directing you to suspect.”
As they leave, gunfire rakes the terrace. I take out my Glock again.
* * *
Bach plays Bach on her earbuds, takes aim and for the first time in her life doesn’t complete a kill. Largely because she was always rather peripheral to the plot and Bill and James didn’t know what to do with her.
* * *
Time is running out. I’ve located the virus and there is just 30 minutes to find the code to stop it. With seconds to spare I key in the safe word. Though I could have done it long before because I was just waiting to discover the traitor in the White House.
* * *
Suliman the terrorist yells, “No one expects the jihadi inquisition” as the police raid the wrong house. But then they go to the right house and kill him.
* * *
“You’ve saved the world and let Russia and Saudi Arabia know who’s boss,” everyone tells me. “You can now go on and be president for ever and ever and no one will mention Monica or draft dodging again.”
I choose to end the book with a dreary chapter on how only presidents like Bill Clinton can really stand up for American values of freedom and democracy.
James is long gone. Then he was never really there.
Digested read, digested: Don’t Kill Bill Vol I
