barbarian majority in our midst, she thought.
That was only one of the many depressing thoughts impinging on Margot's consciousness. Looming even greater than the barbarization of Europe was the continuing, annoying, infuriating prosperity of the United States.
Americans; I hate those bastards. And there are nearly five hundred million of the swine now. While my poor Europe is dying out. And the reason there are so many of the damned Yankees? Not only do their women bear children, just like the Moslems, in unsustainable numbers, but most of the young Euro women willing to have kids went there… or to Ontario, or the Republic of Western Canada, or Australia. Others fled east to Poland and Russia.
All our most talented young people left for other climes, leaving what remained to pay for the pensions for the old, the welfare for the immigrants, or the absolutely necessary government that runs things and keeps the peace, that ensures the people are cared for, cradle to grave.
Except that we can't care for them anymore, even with over ninety percent of conscripted youngsters devoted to social issues instead of the military. We have hardly anything to export now, except retired 'workers' and Moslem children. And no one wants to buy, or even accept, those.
The limo turned to the right and began to slow. Ahead, the leading police escort pulled off to one side of a guarded steel gate. A guard emerged and questioned the driver of the police escort. Apparently satisfied, the guard turned and signaled to someone inside the small armored shack in front of the gate and to one side. Magically- Margot wondered how long it would be before such things were explained away as the work of magic or of the Jinn- the gate slid out of the way. She wondered, too, how long before the gate, all the security systems, all the technology of Europe broke down, never to be replaced.
She pushed such thoughts aside as the limousine began to move forward through the gate and toward the imposing glass and steel building surrounded by still meticulously maintained grounds that was the Headquarters for the European Union.
Chapter Seven Give me a place to stand and I will move the Earth. -Archimedes
I'll make my own goddamned lever. -Patricio Carrera
Air Balboa Flight 717, 9/8/459 AC
Hennessey was a smoky wraith hidden in a wreath of smoke. He did not recognize anything around him. Somehow, though, it felt very high in the air. There was a floor beneath him above which he floated. Though floating, he felt the heat emanating from the floor.
He was drawn forward by laughter. The smoke parted as his shade moved on and through its swirling screen.
The laughter came from a swarthy man. 'Infidels,' cried the man, 'see the judgment of Allah.'
A voice he recognized shouted back, 'Allah will send you to hell, you miserable wog bastard!'
He was drawn forward by the voice and away from the hyenalike laughter. 'Uncle Bob?' he asked. There was no answer. The shade could not see the wraith, though the wraith could see the shade as it shook its fist. 'Uncle Bob?' the wraith repeated.
The shade turned and knelt by a small group. Hennessey recognized his wife, his children. Others were there too, none of whom he recognized.
'Daddy will make them pay, Mom, the men who did this!' Hennessey saw his son, Julio, looking at his mother with certainty in his eyes.
'He will, my son,' Linda answered, 'and terribly.'
'Terribly,' echoed Julio.
'I will. I swear it. I will!' whispered the unheard wraith. 'Their great-great-great-grandchildren will have nightmares.'
Linda looked at the rising flames behind her. 'It is time to go, children. Pray now.' Linda began to pray, the children joining. Even Hennessey's uncle joined in, as did many others.
The prayer over, Linda began to sing. Hennessey recognized the song, 'Abide with Me.' Linda had always loved that one, the wraith remembered. He was not surprised that she had chosen it for the last canto. The singing grew in volume as more people crawled over and joined in.
The wraith saw Linda and Uncle Bob stand, along with the others. They held the children in their arms as they began to walk forward, still singing. Linda's hair billowed in the wind from the smashed out window.
'God, even now she is so beautiful,' whispered her husband's shadow.
Then Linda squeezed her children tightly to her, waited to feel their answering hugs… and took a single step. As Linda, Bob and the children fell forward, others shuffling up to take their places, Hennessey heard, 'Help of the helpless, O Abide with me… '
High above the ground, in a first class seat toward the front of the airplane, his sergeant major seated beside him, Patrick Hennessey awakened, pulled a medium weight blue blanket over his head, and- as silently as possible-wept.
Herrera Airport, Ciudad Balboa, 9/8/459 AC
'Ahhh. Smell t'e flowers! T'ere's no place like Balboa!'
Hennessey smiled indulgently at the tall, razor-thin, gray-haired black man walking at his left side. They moved quickly through Balboan immigration and into the baggage area. At the Aduana a senior customs agent recognized Hennessey from his previous trip and waved him, the other two whites, and the sole black man forward to the front of the line. With a conspiratorial smile, the Aduana agent fell over himself to make the group's transit through the terminal as trouble free as possible. Within mere minutes Hennessey and his companions, John McNamara, Command Sergeant Major (retired), Matthias Esterhazy, late of the Sachsen Reichswehr's Fallschirmstuermpioniere, or Airborne Assault Engineers, and Her Anglic Majesty's former Royal Sapper, Gary Clean, were standing at the counter to pick up their rental car.
'Where are we goin' first, sir?' asked McNamara in a melodious Maiden Islands accent. Esterhazy and Clean kept silent, looking around with curiosity.
Hennessey answered, loudly enough for all three of his companions to hear, 'First, Sergeant Major, we're going to check in at the Julio Caesare. We've got reservations already. An acquaintance of mine-nice girl, 'Lourdes'-has reserved rooms for us. Then we'll need food, I think. This afternoon, after lunch, we'll go look at buying a headquarters. I want you there for that. It may take us a couple of days to find something appropriate.'
The CSM nodded. 'I've given t'e set up some t'ought. Once we find t'e right place, just leave it to me.'
'As always, Sergeant Major.'
As the rental car pulled up, Hennessey thought to ask: 'You were never stationed on the Ciudad side, were you?'
'No, sir. I've been here, of course, but only to pass t'rough.'
'Okay, I'd better drive. I know the way. I'm also more used to the… shall we say… elan with which they drive here.'
The drive from the airport to the Julio Caesare was uneventful. Check-in, too, at the hotel went smoothly, as expected. The rooms proved more than adequate. As Hennessey was unpacking, the room telephone rang. 'A young lady to see you, sir. 'Lourdes,' she says her name is.'
'Yes, fine. Please have her escorted to my room.'
'I am here to see one of your guests,' Lourdes told the man at the registry counter. 'Patrick Hennessey.'
The man looked her over briefly and came to a rapid conclusionHooker. A high-end model, I suspect.
Lourdes' already huge brown eyes widened further still. He can't really think… oh, no… I don't look… I don't dress… I hardly even wear any make up… he can't really. Dammit I'm a good girl!
She said nothing except to sigh as the man picked up the telephone and announced her, then signaled for a bellhop. The bellhop came up to stand beside her, a wide smirk on his face. He thinks so, too?
Lourdes followed the bellhop to the elevator, embarrassment- and not a little anger-growing inside her with each step. She stewed in simmering juices while waiting for the elevator doors to open. She thought, I should have just asked for the room number and told them I could find it myself. But then… no… if I knew my way around the hotel they would probably be certain instead of just guessing.
Lourdes and the bellhop rode up past several floors before the bell chimed, the elevator stopped and the
