D’Trayne smiled in the slightest. His pupils flickered green.
Evan turned the tables on the Witiko: 'Let us speak honestly, Chancellor. The Imperial military handed you your collective asses with only three dreadnoughts. I am no fool, D’Trayne. I know there are powers out there guiding this invasion. I know how desperately the aliens who are here want to stay here. Like I said, I think this was a one-way ticket for all of you. I think you don’t want to go home because going home would not be good for your career or your life. Whether you face dishonor or death is no concern to me, but I believe the other alien races are in the same situation.'
D’Trayne said nothing.
'Imagine, now, a dozen dreadnoughts, or more. That’s what the military wants, you know. And there will be pilots to fly them and crews to man them because our military academies are overflowing with volunteers. Every day that passes our engineers adapt more alien technology for our uses and our economy grows more diverse and powerful.'
'And now you command those armies, Evan. I thought you were against the war.'
'I look at the map and I see our armies on the west coast, the cities of the north occupied and fortified, and an early-warning detection system along the Atlantic. With the Centurian base in Mexico destroyed, so to speak, the south is secure for the foreseeable future. I see a nation with strong borders and armies capable of defending those borders. America is one nation again.' Evan reconsidered and waved a dismissive hand. 'Except, of course, for Hawaii and Alaska, but that’s splitting hairs.'
D’Trayne asked, 'So why is the military my problem and yours?'
Godfrey glided over to an antique globe in the corner and gave it a spin.
'It’s your problem because that military is now capable of projecting power far beyond our borders. I’m sure you heard that General Brewer took the Excalibur to South America last year. What’s to stop the military from sending a fleet of dreadnoughts across the Atlantic or the Pacific or over the North Pole into Russia or China? They could drop an armored division in…' he peered at the globe, '…Siberia or run a massive, sustained air campaign into west Africa.'
'Perhaps you over estimate your capabilities,' D’Trayne sneered.
'Perhaps. But do you think the military knows its limitations? No, D’Trayne, there are too many Generals who savor the idea of fighting for every square inch of this planet. Tell me now, do the other alien races look forward to facing dreadnoughts and gunships?'
When D’Trayne did not respond, Evan answered for him, 'No, of course not.'
'How is your own military a problem for you, Mr. President?'
'I told you that the cream rises to the top in democracy. With a well-tuned message, a good campaign, and the proper amount of spending, the right people eventually earn their way into positions of authority. This, of course, is good for everyone. But war changes that, Chancellor. The people rally around flags and bravado, instead of reason and ideals.'
'Are you saying, Mr. President, that the people see through the political campaigns when they feel more important issues call?'
Evan gnashed his teeth and responded, 'I’m saying that the masses can be distracted. Their blood boils. They make short term decisions and lose sight of the common good.'
'And if you are at war you feel your military is a threat to your Presidency?'
'My ascension to power has not been without… controversy. Over the years my… idealism has created unease in the military and intelligence communities. There are those who might feel that the alien threat could justify the removal of civilian leadership.'
'Are you not in the process of handling this threat? Is that not why you need the assistance of my officers and ships?'
'For one particular threat, yes, but that does not change the entirety of the situation.'
The Chancellor followed Evan’s thinking: 'So as long as this war continues, races such as mine will face a human war machine that will continue to grow stronger and you will face the constant threat of being overthrown and replaced.'
Evan sat behind the President’s desk and folded his hands on this lap. He felt very much at ease there.
'Now you understand, Chancellor. And if I am replaced the war will go on unchecked, until either the invaders defeat humanity or humanity sends you all back through the runes.'
D’Trayne swerved the conversation around a wrong turn: 'Of course, with the right assistance, the forces that have come to your world could overrun this ‘Empire.’ Those who help facilitate such a victory would receive great rewards, even governing authority.'
The growl returned to Evan’s voice as he warned, 'Listen carefully, D’Trayne, I am on the side of humanity. I fought against you invaders in the early days. There is alien blood on these hands. I will do whatever it takes to protect the current borders of this nation and if an alternative solution cannot be found, I will authorize whatever measures are necessary to keep this country secure. Do you hear me?'
D’Trayne bowed his head.
Evan continued, 'The question is, does your side want this to continue? Do you want The Empire to reach out across the oceans? Imagine how our armies on the march could unite the pockets of human resistance scattered around the globe. No extraterrestrial would be safe and even if we could not retake the whole planet, we could really upset the apple cart along the way.'
'But?'
'But if we reached a negotiated settlement. If we, here in America, agreed to stay within our borders and forget about the rest of the world, would your side be willing to sign a treaty recognizing our right to exist and respecting our sovereignty?'
'You seek security?'
'I seek a solution that benefits us both, D’Trayne. Your friends would no longer have to worry about our military knocking over whatever colonies you have around this world. If the war is over, I can snuff out the fire that powers the Generals, making my position more secure and creating a chance for things to return to the way they were before the invasion.' The alien smiled and his eyes glowed a gentle yellow. 'You are a wise man, Mr. President.' 'Blessed are the peace makers, Chancellor.' — Gordon sat on the Lanai watching, for the last time, sunset from his house in northeastern Pennsylvania. He liked the smell of the chlorine from the pool mixing with sound of the gentle wisp of the ceiling fan from the master suite just beyond a pair of open sliding doors. For some reason, it made him think of Florida.
He heard a beep-the third one now-broadcast into the earpiece he wore that was, in turn, attached to a pocket device resembling one part calculator, one part remote control.
The higher pitch of the third beep confirmed what he expected: the generator shed would be their first target. At that point, he figured, they would execute a dynamic entry via multiple points, certain to include the front door and most likely either the garage or the Lanai. The fact that they had yet to nail him with a sniper round while he sat there easily visible through the glass confirmed another of his suspicions: the assassins meant to deliver a message, no doubt some sort of glib victory speech, the type of thing one would expect from Evan Godfrey.
The last rays of sun dipped below the horizon. Gordon stood and strode away from the table and into the master bedroom where the ceiling fan turned. He closed the dual sliding doors and knelt next to the wicker dresser across from his bed. There, hidden in a corner, he opened a small electronic box, the contents battery powered for just this type of occasion.
Near the box rested a stack of CDs. Gordon examined the labels, made his decision, and tossed all but one aside. He grinned and slipped the disc into a slot on that electronic box while whispering, 'I hope you I.S. pussies like classic rock.' Of course the transmitter did nothing; not yet. Like the rest of Gordon's toys, this one would wait for his command.
Next he stood and opened a silver cabinet mounted on the wall above the dresser. From there he pulled a loaded Benelli M4 shotgun. The pouch Omar had given him a few days ago was also in the cabinet. He took it and tied it around his belt.
The ceiling fan stopped, the lights went out, the house went dark.
Game time…
…A wooded knoll rose above the cluster of homes where Gordon lived. On that knoll stood Ray Roos, peering down toward the soon-to-be-ex-Intelligence Director's home through a pair of night vision binoculars. Even with the
