the actions. One French trade union leader stalked out of a recent meeting in evident rage, growling that “these jobs should go to true Frenchmen, not bastard Arabs.”
The public outcry in France took a violent turn on Wednesday as neo-Nazi skinheads and leftist union workers poured into Marseilles’ immigrant neighborhoods. Several hours of street fighting, beatings, and arson left six people dead and dozens more injured. Onlookers have complained that the police did little to contain the violence or to arrest those responsible.
Despite these warning signs, France’s top-ranking corporate and governmental leaders show no evidence of any intention to reverse course. Whether driven by racial arrogance or economic necessity, this forced mass migration seems likely to continue.…
Colonel Zoltan Hradetsky stood on a grassy hill overlooking the Budapest-Vienna highway, glowering down at a scene that was every policeman’s worst nightmare come to life — a riot spiraling out of control. Static and frantic voices crackled over his command vehicle’s radios as his junior officers fought to regain some measure of control over their own men.
The highway looked like a battlefield. A kilometer-long column of buses sat stalled bumper-to-bumper, each packed with replacement workers and their families headed for the Sopron rotor-fabrication factory. Frightened faces stared out through steel mesh screens welded over shattered glass windows.
Thick, black smoke hung over the whole area, billowing from truck tires stacked and set afire as makeshift barricades. The smoke mingled with gray wisps of tear gas rising over rock-throwing rioters surging back and forth across the road. Policemen wearing gas masks and carrying nightsticks and Plexiglas shields raced from trouble spot to trouble spot, clubbing protesters away from the buses before they could pry doors or windows open. Trucks waiting to cart off prisoners to the city jail stood empty. Nobody had any time to make arrests. They were too busy fending off total disaster.
Hradetsky swore under his breath. Damn that idiot Gellard and his arrogant masters in Paris! They hadn’t bothered to inform him of their plans until earlier this morning, far too late to put together any kind of coherent crowd control plan. As a result, his first police units hadn’t been in time to stop Eurocopter’s enraged workers from blocking the bus convoy.
Angry shouts, screams, and the muffled thump of more tear gas launchers being fired drifted uphill on the wind. More smoke stained the sky, rising from behind the stalled column now. Rioters had cut off the convoy’s line of retreat.
He turned on his heel and stalked toward the worried-looking officers clustered around his command vehicle. “Radio Kapuvar and tell them we need reinforcements now, not next week! And find out where those bloody water cannon are! We’re running out of other options fast.”
“Your panic may not be necessary, Colonel.” Francois Gellard, the factory’s general manager, folded his arms across his chest. Somehow he managed to look bored despite the confusion spilling over the highway only a few hundred meters away. Two of his own security guards stood nearby, cradling short, compact FA MAS assault rifles.
“And just what the hell do you mean by that?”
The Frenchman smiled thinly and pointed at the western sky. “I’ve already taken steps that should bring this farce to a quick end.”
Hradetsky followed his outstretched arm and saw three black specks on the horizon, specks that took on shape and size as they closed at high speed. Helicopters with Eurocopter corporate markings.
Moments later the helicopters flashed by low overhead and slid downhill toward the highway, rotors howling as they decelerated. Each had its side doors open and men leaning outward over the struggling throngs only fifty meters below.
Moving slowly now, the Eurocopter aircraft flew eastward along the highway, trailing bright white flashes and a rattling, thumping series of ear-splitting bangs as the stun grenades their crews were lobbing exploded on the ground and in the air. High-pitched screams rose in their wake. Policemen and rioters alike were knocked down by the blasts and then trampled as the panicked mob broke and scattered away from the road.
Turbines whining, the helicopters spun through a tight turn and made another pass. More explosions hammered at Hradetsky’s ears. And more men and women were left lying broken and bleeding on the highway.
He whirled round to face Gellard. “You fucking bastard! How dare you order this… aerial massacre!” He stabbed a finger toward the bodies littering the pavement and roadside.
“Calm down, Colonel. Most of those people aren’t seriously hurt at all — simply breathless and stunned.” The French factory manager nodded toward his orbiting helicopters. “In any event, your vaunted police were losing this battle. And my men and machines have won it. I doubt you’ll find very many of your superiors willing to second- guess my actions.”
Hradetsky felt his face grow red with barely suppressed rage. “I don’t give a damn what those toadies in Budapest say or don’t say. You’re operating on my territory now — not your precious factory grounds.”
He moved closer to Gellard, watching as the manager and his bodyguards tensed, obviously unsure of what to expect from this short-tempered Hungarian. “I’m putting you under arrest, monsieur. The charges will include murderous assault on my police officers down there and on other citizens of this district. I will not allow anyone — no matter how powerful — to take the law into his own hands. Not while I command this post.”
Gellard shrugged. “Then you may not command here for long, Colonel.” The Frenchman turned away, more interested in watching the buses carrying his new workers edging their way past abandoned barricades.
Hradetsky swore again and moved downhill, already issuing the instructions needed to bring some kind of order out of the bloody chaos along the highway.
FROM: Ministry of the Interior
TO: Col. Zoltan Hradetsky, Commander, Sopron Police District
1. Effective immediately you are relieved of all duties at your current post. All special pay allowances and cost-of-living adjustments are also revoked.
2. Effective immediately you will suspend all extraordinary investigations or operations, pending arrival of your designated successor.
3. You are strongly reprimanded for your conduct on 30 August. Despite recent worker-related changes, Eurocopter’s Sopron facility remains an important contributor to our nation’s economy. Your unprofessional behavior has jeopardized this vital relationship, and this reprimand will become a part of your permanent service record.
4. Effective 05 September you are ordered to report for duty in the Office of Criminal Records, Budapest. For the purposes of pay and office organization, you will carry the nominal rank of captain — while retaining your existing grade should future assignments warrant it.
Imre Dozsa
Brigadier General, commanding
CHAPTER 3
Sentinels
Hydraulics whining, the huge 747 rolled out of its turn and slid downward, thundering low over the green, wooded Virginia countryside. Four thousand miles and nearly seven hours after leaving Great Britain, American Airlines Flight 128 was on final approach to Dulles. Row after row of houses, steepled churches, and flat-roofed shopping malls slipped past beneath the plane’s wings. Many stood empty or unfinished. The world recession had brought even Washington’s suburban sprawl to a grinding halt.
Joseph Ross Huntington III pulled his gaze away from the narrow cabin window and frowned. He saw signs of economic gloom everywhere he looked these days — even on this morning flight from London. More of the
