PART tx997

In which Marilyn boosts the amperage of her wide-eyed, innocent, attentive charm to its highest and most deceptive level. Such behavior was always expected of from the Incredibly Powerful Man Who Never Cared To Give His Name, and she always gave him what he expected. He believed that she was nothing more than inane and decorative, and it was an error that betrayed the weakness of his deeply rooted stupidity. The Incredibly Powerful Man Who Never Cared To Give His Name could move armies on a whim, control continents if he so desired, and vaporize cities with a single order. He would sit in his shirtsleeves in his bizarre bunker, deep beneath the megacity, with its incongruously bourgeois décor and its steel and concrete, lead-lined walls, holding one of his offensive books on warfare, and talk glibly of particle beam weapons, and kill ratios, of mass drivers, and megatons, smart bombs and collateral damage, acceptable loses and multiple reentry, but he was totally unable to recognize a goddess when he saw one. It was this lack of perception and even the most fundamental intellect that had stiffened Marilyn’s resolve to nullify his authority. The plan was watertight in its simplicity. In a few hours, the Kali-worshippers would come for him with their knives and silk ropes. They would descend the compromised airshaft, enter the bunker, and, after little more on his part than a strangled gasp, the Incredibly Powerful Man Who Never Cared To Give His Name would be removed from power. Permanently.