“Quiet,” Paul hissed. “For all we know, the thing can trail us by voice.” He wondered if it used infrared tracking and could follow their warm footsteps.
Paul ducked into another room. They needed to get back to HQ. A Marine general had sent Romo and him out to scout their neighboring Canadian battalion. Well, that battalion was gone or dead now. The perimeter had closed tighter again and the general needed to know that, if he didn’t already.
Another war had started against America, and this one might not last long enough for Paul to learn its outcome. What was with these invading vultures anyway? Had the entire world ganged up on the US?
Paul squinted with anger. Someday, and the sooner the better, America would pay back these sons of bitches. First, though, his country was going to have to survive the GD miracle weapons from the future. Yeah, first he was going to have to survive Toronto.
It was 1:32 PM and far from the roar of war. Anna Chen ate alone at Frobisher, an elegant restaurant specializing in seafood and catering to those in the political establishment.
Prices here had risen sharply since the German Dominion occupation of Quebec this winter. Fewer fishermen dared the open ocean these days. GD submarines prowled the Atlantic, and since the coup this April of the Canadian Maritime Provinces, long-range GD bombers flew endless patrols. Sometimes the bombers came to within twenty miles of the American coast. Anna had read five NNS reports of destroyed fishing boats. She’d also read a secret CIA report. It told of the GD intention to annihilate the American fishing industry.
Anna kept her head down as she picked at her salad, spearing a piece of tomato with her fork. She brought it to her mouth and chewed the seemingly tasteless morsel. She was particularly worried about David: that being David Sims, the President of the United Sates.
With delicate fingers, Anna picked up a goblet and sipped white wine. She watched her weight and diligently practiced yoga in the evenings. She was slender and some said beautiful, although she had a hard time admitting it to herself. Her greatest problem—in her opinion—was that she was half-Chinese in a country undergoing its worst crisis because of China. Many people hated her because of her ethnicity, including the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Alan.
Since the GD invasion several weeks ago, the bigotry directed at her bothered her more than ever. Nobody hated German-Americans because of what the GD had done. But people certainly hated her because of what the Chinese had done. That was a double standard.
With a sigh, Anna shrugged, making her jacket rustle. Double standards were unpleasant facts but they were often the way of the world. It was seldom that anything turned out to be fair. One didn’t become the best analyst in the CIA by wearing blinders, but by seeing reality for what it was. Many years ago, she’d written
Hong’s assassination of his Police Minister several months ago had surprised her. This last week, she had been reading up about Shun Li, China’s new Minister of Police and Hong’s most faithful ally. Because of her latest research, Anna had reason to believe that the terrorist attack on Tunisia’s largest desalination plant five weeks ago had been the work of East Lightning: China’s secret police. The mission had been a complicated piece of skullduggery.
The German Dominion attempted to transform the North African deserts into productive wheat fields. The changing weather patterns there had given the hungry Europeans the incentive to try. These days, North Africa received more rain than ever before, or at least since people had been keeping records. To aid in the scheme, Kleist had demanded larger desalination plants, turning Mediterranean salt water into fresh for the crops. The largest plant stood on the coast of Cape Bon, where Gaiseric of old—a ruthless German barbarian—had once tormented the late Roman Empire. Before that, the cape had protected the ancient city of Carthage, scourge of the Romans. A massive nuclear power plant supplied the giant desalination processor with the energy it needed.
Several radical engineers within the nuclear facility had sabotaged it, creating a Chernobyl-like disaster. That had brought about a forced shutdown and an evacuation of the important desalination plant. That would hurt the hundreds of thousands of acres depending on its water and that would severely cut into the harvest—if there even would be a harvest in that region this year.
The first GD outcries had been against the Muslim Brotherhood, a splinter Sunni group secretly funded by Shia Greater Iran. The radical engineers had published a manifesto online, showing them to belong to the Brotherhood and demanding that the atheist Europeans leave Africa. Later, new evidence had emerged that implicated the CIA as the paymaster.
That was nonsense of course. Anna had begun to dig at the evidence and study each piece, searching for its origin. Finally, she had concluded that the terrorist plot had been the secret work of East Lightning, some of its most devious and delicate. East Lightning had left “clues” to implicate the CIA, to blame-shift.
In other words, had Chancellor Kleist really believed that America had been responsible for the terrorism? Anna doubted it. Even so, she knew Kleist had used the supposed “truth.” The CIA had learned that there had been a secret GD memo sent to many European heads of state—states such as Bavaria, Gotland, Prussia, Galicia, Tyrol, Lombardy, Gascony and others. Kleist had used the supposed CIA funding for propaganda purposes: to build up hatred against the Americans.
As she sat at her table, Anna was convinced that the terrorist plot had come from one man’s devious mind: Chairman Hong. The monster was capable of anything, even attacking the world’s dwindling food supply in the worst famine in a thousand years.
“Ma’am,” a deep-voiced man said behind her.
Anna looked up in surprise, and she nearly choked on a piece of lettuce.
Agent Demetrius of the U.S. Secret Service stood at her shoulder. He’d been with her at Iceland last year when she had secretly met with Chancellor Kleist. Demetrius was a large black man and wore a black suit and sunglasses. He guarded her outside the White House whenever David didn’t come along. The President had his own security detail. Her times away from David had been more and more often lately. It was one of the reasons she’d begun brooding.
“I’m sorry to startle you, ma’am,” Demetrius said. His features didn’t change as he said it. The man was like ice. Nothing seemed to surprise him.
“No, no,” Anna said. “I…I was thinking. Is something wrong?”
Demetrius minutely shifted his head.
Anna looked around him, and she spied Max Harold, the Director of Homeland Security. Three huge men stood near him. They were Militia bodyguards, and they had a notorious reputation.
Anna sat in a secluded part of Frobisher, in a little alcove higher than the other tables, with a small railing separating her from them. The lights were subdued here, with old sailing pictures hanging on the walls. The director stood by a table filled with plates of half-eaten meals.
Had Max been eating there with his bodyguards? She didn’t see anyone else who could have been eating with him. Anna wondered if he’d noticed her earlier or just now. She hadn’t believed he frequented this place.
Anna knew a pang of unease. Had Max come here to speak with her? She didn’t like the idea.
“Yes?” Anna said to Demetrius.
“The director told me he would like to join you for a brandy,” the agent said.
“I’m not sure that would be a good—”
“Ma’am,” Demetrius said. “He’s going to insist. Now I’m more than willing to keep him from you, but there are three of them and only one of me.”
Anna studied Demetrius, and she noticed he flexed his left hand, as if he was readying himself to fight. Then
