"Did you, yet again, save the world?" asked Patrick Martin as the President walked out of the vault room. The question was mostly rhetorical.

"Trying," smiled his friend. The President was in a much better mood. Sophie was the key, this little girl from Indiana, now he just needed to find out why and what to do about it. Emilio would have been the only detective in the world figuring out the killer before he determined a motive or having seen the crime scene.

The Colonel was trying in vain to make small talk. They walked back to the elevator along the long white corridor. As they approached the large metal door, he felt the President tense up. He knew Emilio didn't like elevators and hated basements -- their next destination. Days ago, the President had ordered several of the most dangerous serial killers alive brought here and placed below the surface in cells in a maximum security area. Patrick himself did not know the area was there. Emilio’s jurisdiction did not reach into criminal matters, but damned if the man didn't come to the dance prepared.

Half way to the elevator, the President pulled out the little cards folded in his pocket, stacked them neatly without peaking at them. Stopping a second to push with a finger the crease of each to they would all align at the edge.

"What is that?"

"My first move on what I hope will be a short game of chess." Emilio was always extremely clear with his explanations; when he dodged an answer like he just had, there was no point in probing further. The President slid the cards in the back pocket of his pants. "How was your search for my Jester?"

"Jester?" He then took an ironic tone of voice.

"Bishop if you prefer."

"Much easier than anticipated. The first four on my list were magically brought out of their confinement and flew here weeks ago by someone who’s last name is Sanchez. They are in the basement cells it seems. Someone"—he looked at Emilio—"even had them prepped for interrogation and given a number. Sir, why waste my time searching?"

"Which one do you prefer?"

"The one you placed in cell number one; the French Canadian."

"Good choice. Why do you prefer him?"

"If given half a chance, that guy will vaporize half the human race. The men in these rooms are all psychopaths, yet this guy is somehow different. He is highly charismatic. His registered IQ is 185. I know you value this number. God knows why." Emilio smiled. Patrick was the simple and kind man every mother dreamt of having. “He also wears a mullet.”

Emilio chuckled, Patrick knew him well. The elevator doors opened. This lift was reserved to the President. This time two guards were waiting inside. Patrick had increased the level of security.

Emilio paused. "No disrespect, gentlemen, but Patrick, who are the thugs?"

"The protocol is clear, you need personal security to enter the basement."

"They have no guns?" The two men smiled.

"They're trained in close quarters combat, or CQC, sir. A weapon favors the attacker. These men are experts in CQC." Patrick knew the President well enough to offer his hand as Emilio stepped onto the elevator. He was like a man stepping on a rocking boat. The Colonel could not know the President was seeing cables snap, sending the foursome headlong crashing into the basement.

Emilio figured he would always have trouble with elevators and escalators. He knew one day he would die in or on one. Once in, he looked at the control panel. The basement button was lit. Emilio reached out and pushed the 3rd floor button. It also lit.

"A detour of only a couple of minutes. I promise," said the President. The beauty of being the boss was that no one ever talked back except his assistant Kai. One day he would miss that part of his job. In silence, the presidential security detail activated. As the lift made its way down, it was slowed to give time for the security guards on the third floor to get ready. The Secret Service in the room was on high alert.

***

Seconds later, the elevator doors opened onto a large ballroom. The crowd in the room erupted cheers and applauds. Hundreds of important donors and celebrities were here to celebrate the victory of the World Tsunami Relief Foundation, via Emilio's domination of the Presidential Challenge. The group of nearly a thousand was celebrating, live on television; the greatest fundraising victory of all time. A giant screen had a thermometer gushing a flow of money from its top. Below it blinked the number $1,203,609,121,560.44. The number was steadfastly impressive. Emilio wondered why they bothered with the decimals.

It took a second for the President to get accustomed to the brightness in the room. An announcer's voice helped silence the cheering group. "A warm welcome to the man of the century, the man who has just funded our organization for the next Century, the winner of the Presidential Challenge and our President of the United Nations: Emilio Wamarez Sanchez!"

The floor exploded with genuine cheers as he gladly stepped off the elevator. Patrick stayed in the back of the elevator. He would wait for Emilio to return. Emilio opened both arms to embrace the crowd. These people loved Emilio. Highlights of the performance were playing in loops on the walls. He was now televised live around the world; little red lights on the tops of cameras all turned to green as Emilio moved around.

Emilio spoke briefly to the crowd, a flute of champagne in hand, and gave brief interviews to several news outlets. The Mexican man always had dice in his pocket. Each time the line of news reporters became too long to manage, he grabbed the little cubes rolled them inside his hands, asked a person to the read the number, smiled and skipped over a number by the number rolled. The journalists seemed to love this fair treatment.

Patrick, like many, loved his President. Emilio was exceptional in all aspects. Patrick wondered how the man could still be a bachelor, there had to be a man or a woman for him. Ten minutes later, Emilio finally managed to pull himself free and talk with the woman who presided over this charity. He knew Sharon very well. She was kind, intelligent, and more importantly, resourceful.

"Emilio!" she gushed. He kissed both of her cheeks.

"Sharon, I have to be brief here, I need a favor."

"A favor, from me? You just gave us a trillion credits. If you want my firstborn, it's yours."

"This is serious." He pulled her aside. He was no longer kidding. She had never seen the President so serious. "I have one trillion-dollar question."

"What is it?"

"I need you to investigate something in total secrecy. No one can know."

"Of course."

The President whispered in her ear. "I am serious. People will kill you if they catch you snooping around... really bad people. Rewatch Round 25, start there."

“You have to be kidding.” She drank from her flute as she finally acknowledged the importance of the request.

"Really?"

"Really. Trust no one. You have two or three days, not more."

She finally realized this was no joke. "If I can. We aren't a Secret Service agency. But trust me, I'll try."

He grabbed her and drew her close as if he were kissing her neck. With one hand he covered his mouth so the cameras in the room could not read his lips. "There is a secret powerful group of METAs, and they have trillions in resources. They are building something they call an Ark. I need to know what the hell it is and, better yet, where it is." He smiled at her. "I think it's some nuclear winter bunker, and I figured if anyone knows the people building anything underground, it's you."

"Correct. We build."

"Don't trust Marilyn. She may be involved." That would make things rather more difficult.

"Building a bunker is one thing, but hiding the efforts of hundreds of contractors from you should be harder." He stepped back a bit and continued in a normal voice. "If they find out you're snooping, you'll be dead within an hour. Sorry to spring this on you."

As he walked back to the elevator he simply said out loud: "You really didn't think money was going to fall from the sky, did you?"

He blew her a kiss in the air. Sharon was left standing there, by herself, in the large crowd. The man was awesome. She, as everyone who had ever met Emilio, was in awe. She smiled back as he stepped carefully back on the elevator. Then she lifted her flute, and swallowed its full contents as she felt a runnel of sweat thread its way down her back. If Emilio needed something, she would sure as daylight get that answer.