Manipulations

    Caidan Johnson's Presidential security team followed closely behind him in the large motorcade as it traveled along the streets of Los Angeles on his way to the Presidentail palace.  It was no secret that his popularity amongst the masses had dwindled, thus the added security, but Johnson couldn't care less.  In his eyes the majority of the American people were lazy, and held no benefit to him.  Oh of course he had made them think so when he had taken the Republican nomination 12 years ago,  winning their votes to elect him to fight the Republican ticket into the Presidential Palace.  But of course that was politics.  You said what you had to say to get the results you wanted.  Those with the power make the rules.  That had become his mantra.  It didn't matter that he was short and overweight, because when it came to killing he was ruthless and impenitent; winning by any means necessary.  
    Just like he had four years before, when he had Kevin Manning's breakfast drugged the morning of their fight. Kevin had been heavily favored to win and was by far the most popular of the two men.  The media had virtually given Johnson no chance at all, but they had underestimated him.  So what he was the smaller, less physical of the two.  He had found a way to gain the advantage on the bigger, stronger man.  Weakened from the poisonous concoction served with his toast and eggs Kevin barely put up a fight at all.  A small grin formed on Johnson's lips while he reminisced on Kevin's death.  He always felt devilishly invigorated after taking another mans life.  How he had enjoyed toying with the desperate man, before ending his life in front of his friends, family, and the rest of the onlooking world.
    The bulletproof glass dividing President's Johnson from his chauffeur hummed signaling an incoming call.  Johnson allowed it to ring twice before answering.  Baskingin his solitude he didn't want to be disturbed.  Johnson leaned forward and touched the screen, and immediately the image of Samir Massoud, his Islamic counterpart, was displayed in panoramic.
    "Caidan my brother, how are you today?"  Samir's Persian accent was heavy, and Johnson had difficulty making out his words at times.  
    " I am good Samir," Johson replied back.  
    "Caidan I have good news for you,  Aahil has advised me that our project has gotten of to an outstanding start."  
    "Samir, what the hell are you talking about?  Our project was supposed to involve killing Manning not kidnapping Alicia Stone."  Her father is one of my biggest supporters.  And now the media is playing the kidnapping on every multiplex in every home from Canada to Panama.  He's demanding me to do something about it and to keep us under the radar,  I have had to put the Deputy Director of the A.B.I in charge of finding her."  
    "Caidan, my brother, relax everything is going smoothly.  Where is your faith in your good friend Samir, have I ever let you down before?"  
    "I will relax when you tell me what is going on!  This deputy director, Stan Lake is relentless.  He's the best investigator I have ever seen.  I appointed him to the position myself, and he has never missed his man." Johnson exclaimed nervously
    "You are going to have to trust me Caidan.  The less you know about the details the better, Samir explained.  I am monitoring the situation personally.  Right now, Lake thinks Manning is responsible, he practically accused him to his face.  We can use this to our advantage.   All we have to do is ensure Lake has enough evidence to prove Manning is guilty.  As you know the punishment for kidnapping a debutant is death by electrocution."  Now do you see?"
    The President pondered Samir's words momentarily and a dark smile spread across his face.  It was ingenious.  Manning, his toughest opponent, was going to take the fall for Alicia's kidnapping, and Johnson would appear the hero for catching him before the election started in two days.
    "Samir, you are truly an exceptionally devious man. I am sorry to have doubted you."  Johnson remarked laudably.  
    "We are brothers Caidan and I always take care of my brothers."  Samir replied and the call was ended.
    The smile faded from Johnson's face as he watched  out the window of his limousine.  The streets of downtown Los Angeles were littered with impecunious vagabonds and dilapidated buildings.  Everywhere Johnson looked appeared destitute, as though the Angels had been replaced by ghosts.  His first act as President had been the establishment of the Criminal Slave Labor Act of 4016. Under the Act every criminal facing jail time had very large fines levied against them.  If they were unable to pay, a wealthy individual could pay on their behalf.  That person took ownership of that criminal for the duration of their jail sentence.  Housing them in jail only cost the government money; especially with so much overcrowding.  So instead he had instructed the state and municipal governments to have their sentences carried out in the form of free labor under the supervision and to the benefit of his wealthy constituents and colleagues.  
    In order to ensure the slaves remained in custody their Chromo-tags were programmed so that they were restricted to whatever area their owners designated.  If they attempted to escape, their chromo-tag would transmit a signal reporting the breach, and a fatal  charge would electrocute the slave, killing them instantly.  Not a single slave had escaped in the 12 years since the Act was unanimously ratified to the Constitution.