Invasion: Colorado

-3- The Offer

Soldier Rank Zhu Peng rode one of the newly-modified Z4A “Battle-taxis.”

The Z4As were strange helos with a bubble canopy for the pilot and two swept back poles on either side for the Eagle Team commandos. They were constructed to give each jetpack-flyer easy and quick access to the air.

Zhu sat on a motorcycle-style seat as he gripped two handlebars. Before him was a small windshield. His booted feet also rested on bars. He rode outside with the cold wind. So did other Eagle flyers of Tian Jintao’s squad. They were high in the sky tonight. The stars looked like gems, each cold and precise in the heavens.

Zhu’s helmet was closed and he’d dressed warmly, but that didn’t help after forty-five minutes in the night air. He shivered, wishing he could sit before a glowing orange heater. Since he was so skinny, he didn’t retain heat as well as the others did.

They were on Partisan Standby. It meant the Z4A had climbed up high into the sky, loitering. American ears had grown wary, and partisans bolted at the first sound of Chinese helos. So command had decided on a new tactic: up and out of sight and sound until the instant of partisan combat.

High-flying modified AWACS watched the ground for partisans. Once spotted, this battle-taxi could zoom. The new modification to the Z4A was afterburner-equipped tri-jets.

Zhu had been on several afterburner runs. They were wild rides, exhilarating and fast. The trouble was, few Eagle flyers could dismount in the accepted manner when the battle-taxi flew that fast. Once the Eagle commando stood up to launch, the wind hit him hard, pushing him back into his seat. The trick was to fall backward like a skydiver.

For the moment, as his teeth chattered, Zhu tried to figure out how to enjoy the patrol. He was cold and getting colder. He studied the nearby Rocky Mountains. They were majestic, but their snowy sides…no, looking at them just made him shiver more. The ground was far below. The distant I-25—it went north to south—was the tiniest of ribbons. On that route went most Chinese supplies to the PAA Third Front.

Zhu’s helmet crackled with sound. “Soldier Rank Zhu,” he heard.

Zhu chinned his controls. “Yes, First Rank.”

“I’m so cold my balls are going to freeze off,” Tian complained. “How I am going to please the hot American women then? Tell me that.”

Zhu blinked in confusion. Was this a code? Orders mandated quiet from Eagle flyers during a combat air patrol. Tian must have spotted something vitally important to break radio silence.

“Are we jumping?” Zhu asked.

“No,” Tian said. “I told you my balls are cold. That means I’m freezing. How do you keep yourself warm?”

Oh, Zhu understood. Tian must realize how easily he became cold. The beefy First Rank must be saying this to make him feel better. It was thoughtful of Tian, but it made Zhu uncomfortable. Does he think I’m too weak to take the cold?

“First Rank,” Zhu said in a chiding voice. “Orders state we must maintain radio silence.”

“I’m too cold to be silent,” Tian said. “If I have to sit another moment with my thoughts, I’m jumping off and going to ground where it’s warmer.”

“The officers would mark you AWOL.”

Tian chuckled. “Zhu, Zhu, Zhu, why are you so serious all the time? Aren’t you cold?”

Instead of answering—he never wanted to lie to Tian—Zhu said, “What if the officers hear our radio chatter?”

“You were a Hero of Los Angeles and now you’re worried about a few prissy officers?” Tian asked. “Soldier Rank, are you worried about a few demerits?”

This must be a secret test. Zhu nodded to himself. Tian and likely officers wish to see if I have moral courage. I cannot show moral cowardice. Yet, I am supposed to obey orders. I don’t know what to do.

“Are you still there, Soldier Rank? Or have you already jumped off to get warm?”

“I am at my post,” Zhu said.

“Are you cold?”

“No, First Rank,” Zhu said.

“Did you just lie to me?”

“Well…” Zhu said, “Yes, I’m a little cold.”

“So a Hero of Los Angeles is mortal after all.”

Zhu had a won a Hero of China medal for his actions in Los Angeles. “First Rank, I wish you would not mock my efforts in California.”

“Do you remember that my mother went to an astrologer before I left and she discovered that I wouldn’t die in North America?”

“I remember,” Zhu said.

“I wonder if the astrologer was true or if she was a charlatan like people say they are. If she was false, it means I might die here. This country is so big, and there are so many Americans who take up their guns to fight us—do you think we can win this war?”

“China cannot lose,” Zhu said.

“Why is that?” Tian asked.

“We fight better,” Zhu said in surprise. “We have the greatest soldiers in history. The Americans have retreated constantly before us. It is impossible for us to lose.”

“That’s a nice speech, Soldier Rank. Now tell me what you really think.”

“I’m…” Zhu glanced to his left. First Rank Tian looked at him. The big commando raised an arm and waved.

Zhu let go of a handlebar and waved back.

“I have a report of a band of partisans, First Rank Tian,” the Z4A’s pilot said. “They’ve blown up three trucks nine kilometers from our position. Are your commandos ready for a dive?”

“Get set, Eagle flyers,” Tian radioed the others with wide band. “We’re going down.”

Zhu gripped the handlebars with both hands. He lowered his head and heard the ripping wind pass his ears. Sometimes when the afterburners roared hottest, wind slipped over the windshield. He’d seen a flyer torn out of his seat before.

The Z4A modified battle-taxi tipped earthward. A second later, the helo shot forward. Afterburners roared and orange flame flickered.

Zhu’s fingers slipped. He tightened his hold and crouched lower still. He shifted his feet as he leaned as low as he could, managing to get his boots in front of the foot bars. The tri-jet afterburners didn’t let up. As they dove, it was a struggle to remain on his cycle-seat.

“Ease up on your dive,” Tian radioed the pilot.

“Orders,” the pilot said. “I’m to dive at maximum speed.”

“And if your orders kill us by tumbling commandos, whose head do you think will roll?” Tian asked.

The battle-taxi eased up in its dive, giving Zhu time to re-grip the bars and lean into a better position.

“If we’re late…” the pilot said.

“Don’t threaten me,” Tian said, and there was menace in his voice.

The pilot didn’t say anything more, nor did they increase speed again. Zhu could understand the pilot’s fear. He’d fought Tian before and lost miserably. But losing a fight didn’t mean you backed down. He would rather take the blows of a beating than show cowardice.

The First Rank fed them data as he received it. The ground rushed nearer and I-25 had grown considerably. Zhu could see a blaze on the road. The partisans must have struck an oil hauler.

“Was the partisan strike by mine or machine gun?” Zhu asked.

“Looks like both,” Tian told him.

“There!” another Soldier Rank cried. “Look at three-dash-five. They’re riding motorcycles, two people per vehicle.”

Zhu swiveled his helmet while turning on the HUD coordinates. He spied the partisans with his night vision. The motorcycles fled for a forest three kilometers away. If the Americans reached those trees, it would be hard to find and kill them.

The Z4A swept out of the night sky like a proverbial bat out of hell. The afterburners and dive gave the helo speed.

“They’re splitting up!” the Soldier Rank shouted.

“We can hear you just fine,” Tian said. “There’s no need to shout.”

“Which motorcycle do you want me to follow?” the pilot asked.

Tian was quiet for a moment. Then he began to instruct the pilot and the team. “Zhu, you and Qiang will take the left motorcycle.”

The helo lurched right. Tian was giving him the hardest target. Despite that, the others would laugh at him if his motorcycle got away.

“Get ready,” Tian said.

The battle-taxi zoomed at the chosen motorcycle, gaining on it.

“Launch,” Tian said.

Zhu released the handlebars and thrust up with his feet. It was a tricky maneuver, and he twisted his boots. They could easily tangle with the handlebars. He cleared the helo and flew forward through momentum. He also dropped. Only now did he engage the jetpack. If a flyer shot up too soon, he could cause a bad accident for both him and the others.

“Zhu,” Fighter Rank Qiang said.

“Follow me,” Zhu said, “but stay to my left.”

“Yes, Soldier Rank,” Qiang said.

Opening the throttle, Zhu flew after the leftmost motorcycle and the two partisans. He made a quick calculation and gave himself maximum thrust. That ate up jetpack-fuel at a prodigious rate. But this wasn’t an endurance flight. He had to reach the motorcycle now. It was harder flying fast, though, trickier, more prone to misjudgments.

He gained on the pair. Did they hear him? One of the riders looked back. She had long hair whipping in the wind.

It’s a woman. I don’t want to kill a woman.

The woman sitting on the back of the bike didn’t have any compunction about shooting at him. She twisted around and fired a submachine gun. It spat flame.

Zhu wasn’t worried about getting hit up here. She rode a bike over bumpy ground and he flew in the air. She’d need divine luck to shoot him down like this. He’d learned through bitter experience that the dangerous ground soldiers were those who fired deliberately while standing in one spot.

“Qiang?” Zhu asked.

“Behind you and to the left,” Qiang said.

Zhu glanced back. In the darkness, he could barely make out Qiang. The Fighter Rank had fallen far behind.

“Get high up,” Zhu said. “You’re going to watch where they go.”

“I need to give you fire support.”

“You must obey me!” Zhu shouted.

“Yes, Soldier Rank.”

Zhu glanced at his grenade launcher. It was perched on his left shoulder like a predatory eagle. He gained on the motorcycle and fired a grenade. It sailed into the darkness and exploded to their left by forty meters.

The driver never swerved. Sometimes partisans panicked, but it didn’t look like these two would. Zhu fired another grenade for good measure.

The submachine gun blazed.

Zhu grinned to himself. He zoomed lower, gaining even more speed. He was a mere thirty meters above them. He flashed over them and sped ahead.

Now the motorcycle swerved, taking a different direction.

“Talk to me, Qiang. Tell me where they’re going.” Zhu didn’t want to take his eye off the ground. This was going to get tricky. While he was this low, he didn’t want to keep looking back to see where they were.

Qiang fed him data on his targets.

Zhu made a quick judgment and roared ahead for a rough piece of ground. Eagle flyers had broken many an ankle trying this. He needed full concentration.

“Zhu, they’re heading straight for you! I think they know what you’re going to do.”

The girl must be firing the submachine gun, but Zhu wasn’t going to worry about that now. He needed concentration. You’ve trained doing this many a time. Just get it right. Get down and then worry about the combat situation.

Too many Eagle flyers tried to do two things at once. You needed to land right first. Then you could fight. Fighting while trying to land meant you would spill badly.

Zhu watched the ground rush up. He swiveled his body and applied thrust, braking himself. He dropped, braked harder, and dropped at just the right angle. Seconds later, he ran lightly across the ground. His feet blurred and he brought himself under control.

“They’re coming for you,” Qiang radioed.

“They are brave,” Zhu said.

He ran, and with a flick of his hands, he shed the jetpack. It fell, and he ran faster, lighter now. Then he dove, thudding onto the ground, skidding with his chest, using his toes to drag and brake. As he stopped, he yanked his QBZ-95 from the rack and swiveled on his stomach.

“How did you do that, Zhu?” Qiang asked. “I can’t believe it.”

Soldier Rank Zhu ignored the question. He concentrated on combat. I must fight with superior bravely against these courageous Americans.

He sighted the assault rifle, and he let the pair roar at him over the bumpy ground. The headlight wavered and the enemy gunfire quit. The woman must be switching magazines.

Deliberately, Zhu pulled the trigger. The stock shoved against his shoulder as he lay on the ground. Flame belched out of the barrel, illuminating the iron sight on the end. He began firing bursts, and in a moment, the motorcycle slid and the two Americans went down. Zhu watched. The driver stayed down, for he’d shot the partisan in the head. The woman with the flying hair got up and staggered.

Zhu hesitated. She is a woman.

The partisan looked around wildly. Zhu heard her sob. Then he shot her, and she too went down—and she stayed down.

He thought about that—killing a woman, and it emotionally drained him. He lay on the ground and began to shake. He hated this about himself. All the excitement was over and now his body betrayed him. He shook, and he hated the fact of killing a woman.

“Zhu,” Qiang radioed from the ground, from beside the motorcycle. “They’re both women. They…they look like sisters.”

Soldier Rank Zhu closed his eyes. He didn’t like partisan hunting. The Americans were brave to do what they did. Yet he had to kill them and make them stop. If he didn’t, China would wear herself out in battle.

“Are you well, Soldier Rank?” Qiang radioed. “I see you lying on the ground.”

“I’m fine,” Zhu said. He sat up, and the trembling increased. He had been scared making the landing. He was glad no one else knew that.

As he walked toward Qiang, he realized that he wasn’t cold anymore.

How much longer would the squad continue to hunt partisans? When was the war going to get hot again? He wanted to fight American soldiers, not their motorcycle-riding, submachine gun-firing women partisans. It wasn’t fair to him the Americans did that and he wanted it to stop.

It was November 2and Anna Chen’s hands trembled as she stood before her hotel mirror. I’m the wrong person for this. I’m going to make a terrible mistake and it will cost America everything. Why did he choose me?

Anna wore a modest blue dress with a matching purse and shoes. Today, she wore her dark hair down past her shoulders.

Should I put my hair up? This is awful. I don’t even know how to dress for something like this.

She stared at herself, trying to drum up a modicum of self-confidence. She was slender, some said beautiful—Anna had a hard time admitting it to herself—and she was half-Chinese in a country undergoing its worst crisis because of the Chinese. Many, many people hated her because of her ethnicity.

If I fail, people will want to hang me for treason. They’ll say I sold them out because secretly I love the invaders and want them to win. Her lips firmed. She did not love the invaders. She loved her country and she loved—she blinked at herself, shaking her head. Then she went back to inspecting the dress by sliding her hands down her hips.

Despite her rapid rise in status, she worked out daily, practicing yoga. How many months ago had she been just another night-analyst for the CIA? Seven years ago, she’d worked for President Clark. Now she worked for President Sims.

Why can’t I call him by his first name? We weren’t that formal three days ago when he held me in his arms, whispering in my ear.

They had been working together for months, trying to stem the ongoing crisis. So far, nothing had halted the Chinese advance or the South American tanks. Week after week, the enemy surged deeper into the middle of the United States of America.

She no longer worked for the CIA, but had first moved onto the Presidential crisis team and then into the President’s inner circle as an advisor. Today she was here as the personal representative of the President.

I can’t do this. I’ll make a terrible mistake and it will cost us too dearly. What do I know about bargaining with one of the most powerful men in the world?

There came a knock at the door. Anna turned sharply. She felt lightheaded, dizzy. This was it. No. Please, let me go home.

“Enter,” she said.

The door swung inward and a large Secret Service agent stood there. It was the mission chief, a black man named Demetrius. He wore a black suit and sunglasses. “The car is waiting, ma’am,” Demetrius said in his deep voice.

Anna nodded. Her mouth had become too dry to speak. She faced the mirror a last time, picked up a necklace and kept fumbling with the tiny lock. She couldn’t—

“If you would permit me, ma’am?” Demetrius said.

She shivered. He stood so tall and powerful behind her. She hadn’t even heard him walk up. His face was stony; the sunglasses hid his eyes.

Feeling helpless, she nodded once more.

His big fingers moved deftly, brushing her hand as he clicked the tiny lock into place. “I do this for my wife all the time,” he said.

“Thank you,” Anna managed to whisper.

For a moment then, she was back in time. She remembered her former bodyguard, Tanaka. They had married and street thugs had killed him, ending everything. Tanaka would have scolded her for acting this mousey. She was the President of the United States’ personal representative. She needed to act boldly. She needed to realize that today she was the voice of America.

I have to swallow my fear. I have to think and measure the opposition. I must seek calm, calm, calm…

She’d entered the inner circle, advising the President and in the past few weeks consoling him. The crushing burden was becoming too much for one man to shoulder. President Sims was hard-pressed and people kept expecting miracles from him. He’d won the Alaskan War seven years ago, defeating the Chinese. He had a record of victory against them.

Yes, President Sims—

David. I can call him David in my thoughts, can’t I?

David Sims had helped America prepare for the present war. The Militia formations had been his idea. Shooting down the Chinese satellites last year and stopping the food tribute—he’d helped Americans feel proud again. Now to watch the endless retreats, the grim defeats, each larger than the last—it was grinding David down.

I’m here because this is better than crawling to the Chinese for conditions. And I’m here because Chancellor Kleist indicated he had a proposal for us.

Years ago, Anna had written the tome on the Chinese: Socialist-National China. It had been a bestseller, and it had won her a professorship at Harvard and then a spot on President Clark’s staff. After Clark lost his reelection bid, she’d been unemployed and looking for work. Finally, she’d joined the CIA because Sims helped those who had worked to defeat the Chinese in Alaska. As a CIA analyst, she’d uncovered the enemy’s Blue Swan EMP tac-missiles, and she’d helped figure out how to blunt them against the SoCal Fortifications. During these dark days, she’d learned all she could about Chancellor Kleist of the German Dominion, but her knowledge was spotty compared to her understanding of the Chinese leadership.

In the here and now, Agent Demetrius led the way down the hotel hall. Soon, they stepped outside. It was snowing and wet, clinging flakes fell. A running sedan waited at the bottom of the marble steps. White fumes puffed out of the car’s exhaust.

Anna worked her way down the slick steps. Her right foot began to slide; she held her body rigid and barely caught her balance in time. It wouldn’t do for her to fall down the stairs like an idiot. Finally, she made it and headed for the open car door. She slid into the back seat and Demetrius shut the door and climbed into the front, riding shotgun. The car started forward, the only vehicle on the street.

What a lonely country this has become.

The capital city of Reykjavik and Iceland as a whole used to have many more people. Glaciation had changed that. The Gulf Stream no longer warmed these northern waters. The current no longer warmed Europe or Russia. Because of the change, crops had dwindled to a pale shadow of their glory days.

The German Dominion refused to accept the lessening of their position. They had incorporated several North African nations into their empire. Experts attempted to change the former deserts into gardens using scientific methods. The ancient Carthaginians had done that to northern Tunisia. Now the Germans tried their hand at the game. They even towed icebergs into the Mediterranean Sea and put them on Libyan, Algerian and Tunisian shores. The melt helped water the new wheat fields.

From the back seat, Anna noticed they climbed a hill. She glanced left and saw colorful rooftops. There were many of those in Reykjavik. In the distance, she saw the spire of Hallgrimskirkja, the church of Hallgrimur. According to her brief, the spire was the sixth tallest structure on the island.

Once, Greater Reykjavik had boasted 200,000 people. Anna had read in her brief there were a mere 75,000 now. The ratio was similar for the entire island. Still, Iceland was strategically placed. A GD air wing flew out of the island and tough GD paratroopers and hover-tankers guarded the lonely land.

From the back seat, Anna pulled out her e-reader, trying to study her notes. It proved impossible. She was more nervous than ever. In the next few minutes, she would meet Chancellor Kleist and she would have to play her role as Presidential representative.

Kleist was a cunning bastard. Oh yes, he was acclaimed as the new Otto von Bismarck. That sounded so much nicer. There had been little nice about Otto von Bismarck, however, a man of the late 1800s. His compatriots had named Bismarck the “blood and iron” Chancellor who’d created the Second Reich—the German Empire—through soldiers’ blood and his iron will. That empire had perished at the end of World War I.

Anna permitted herself a wintry grimace. The First Reich had been a medieval political entity. The Third Reich had been that monster Hitler’s creation. Today the Germans seemed wiser than before. No one called it the Fourth Reich, but the German Dominion instead. It encompassed the old European Union with added African countries.

Anna wasn’t here simply because the GD was a first-rate world power. Through his subtle and force-backed diplomacy, Chancellor Kleist had massed GD hovers into Cuba, along with elite paratroopers and airmobile brigades. GD Fleets roamed the Atlantic Ocean and its air and space patrols came perilously near America’s Eastern seaboard. The problem went much deeper, of course. Kleist had made a secret pact with the Pan-Asian Alliance, with China. The ray of hope for America came because it seemed as if Kleist had broken certain accords of the pact. His lack of help in attacking America this summer meant something, and if she did her job well, she might find out what.

One of the State Department men briefing Anna two days ago had told her Kleist reminded him more of Gaiseric than Otto von Bismarck. It had been a chance comment but she’d looked it up. One of her strengths was thoroughness and preparation. If she didn’t know something, she hunted it down.

Gaiseric had ended up being the king of the Vandal barbarians. In the waning days of the Western Roman Empire, groups of German tribes had marched hither and yon, conquering choice pieces of the empire and claiming the land as armed and dangerous squatters. Gaiseric took his Vandals from Spain and into Northern Africa. He besieged and took Carthage and soon turned his Germans into fierce pirates, creating a first-rate navy.

Gaiseric had proved the most cunning of the barbarian warlords. His words had helped convince Attila the Hun to attack the Western Roman Empire. Perhaps Kleist’s words had helped convince Chairman Hong to invade America. After Attila’s time and during Roman troubles, Gaiseric had taken his Vandals and sacked the Eternal City of Rome. The barbarians did such a thorough job of it that the tribal name—Vandal—stuck. It became a word that meant wanton destroyer. The key to understanding Gaiseric was his cunning and avarice.

Now I’m supposed to match wits with the modern Gaiseric. I think David miscalculated. Anna gripped the e-reader. You will remain calm. You will listen carefully and say as little as possible. Even a fool is thought wise if he keeps his mouth shut.

“We’re almost there ma’am,” Demetrius told her. He rode with a walkie-talkie near his mouth and he scanned back and forth.

Anna looked up from her reader. The snow had stopped falling. Rain poured instead. The sedan’s wipers busily cleared the front windshield.

Ah, they approached Hotel Arnarson. It was a blocky, six-story building, with combat helicopters parked on the rooftop. Anna’s eyes widened. She spied armored soldiers on the sidewalks, cradling machine guns. They wore black helmets, some speaking into tiny microphones before their mouths.

Did Kleist fear assassins? That would be an interesting thing to know.

Anna recalled what David had told her. Like the country, the American President was desperate. Above all else, he needed to know the Chancellor’s intentions. Did the German Dominion plan to invade the U.S. or was there a way to buy them off?

How am I supposed to figure out Kleist’s intentions? Anna shook her head. David seemed to think she was good at getting under a foreign leader’s skin. Yes, she knew the Chinese, but the Germans…

What do I know about Germans, these New Germans? World War II had shown they made great soldiers, but they usually made foolish political blunders.

Is Kleist of that mold?

The sedan slowed as it approached Hotel Arnarson. Anna shuddered.

Calm, keep calm and keep your wits. Your country and your President is depending on you to produce a miracle.

Chancellor Kleist proved to be short and fat. At first blush, he looked like an old-style German burgher, with doughy cheeks. The eyes belied the image. There was something plastic about the dark orbs, something of an emotionless and predatory shark. He had sparse dark hair but wasn’t bald.

He wore a green suit and expensive Italian shoes. His chin was strong, his hands thick but small and he wore a single ring on his wedding finger. The silver band had a large diamond and that seemed strange and out of place.

They had been speaking together, the Chancellor and Anna. He had a rich voice, easy to hear. His eyes made her uncomfortable. They had undressed her several times already. It was an oily thing, making her feel like meat, a meal for this small, ruthless Gaiseric of a man.

She’d met his Naval and Army Ministers. They had been tall and imposing. Kleist had treated them like errand boys. What daunted Anna is how they reacted to him: with stark, ill-concealed fear. She had greeted several Home Ministers and noticed the same reaction. If Kleist told a joke, all his officials laughed loudly. Lastly, Anna met a tall Frenchman with silver hair. He spoke cordially, mentioning Lafayette, how maybe this time maybe America could aid France.

Anna found that a strange comment.

Shortly after that, Kleist said, “Shall we retire into the other room, Ms. Chen?” He had accented English, making his “W’s” sound like “V’s.”

Anna nodded.

One of the hard-faced men standing near the back wall strode toward them. The man reminded Anna of Agent Demetrius. With the click of ornate door handles, the bodyguard opened a set of baroque double doors. A fireplace roared comfortably within. Near it sat two huge stuffed chairs, facing the fire. On one of the walls rested a massive set of old books. Another wall featured ancient Viking swords and axes and large round shields.

“After you, please,” Kleist said.

Anna moved to one of the chairs by the fireplace and sat down. The heat felt good on her knees.

Kleist sat in the other chair and made a subtle gesture to the bodyguard. The man closed the doors, sealing the two of them alone in the room.

“At last,” Kleist said, turning his shark eyes to Anna, letting them rove over her body.

Somehow, Anna managed a smile and kept herself from shivering. It was crazy to think a head of state would attempt rape. Yet she thought it nevertheless.

Calm, Anna, keep calm. This is the most important moment of my life. I must serve my country to the very best of my ability.

Kleist smiled at her. It was a gloating thing, but only lasted a moment. He let the smile fade, and the small Gaiseric folded his thick hands on his stomach.

“Fraulein, why do you think your President chose you to speak to me as his representative?”

“I’m not sure I understand your question, Chancellor.”

“He should have sent the Defense Minister or possibly the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Instead, he sends you. I would like to know why.”

“For the simplest of reasons,” Anna said, “because he trusts me.” She was surprised at how calm her voice sounded. Maybe she could do this.

Don’t get over-confident. Just stay calm and try to say as little as possible. Think before you speak.

“He trusts you,” Kleist said, as if tasting the words. “You are his conscience perhaps?”

“No.”

Kleist watched her as if waiting for more.

It was hard, but Anna kept her mouth shut. Don’t say too much. Let him think I’m wise.

As he sat in the stuffed chair, Chancellor Kleist began to twirl his thumbs. “He trusts you. Good. Are you a clever woman, Fraulein?”

“Some call me smart.”

“You are Chinese?”

“I am an American.”

Kleist twirled his thumbs faster. “The Chinese and South Americans have driven into your heartland. They have smashed, encircled and captured many American formations.”

“Our soldiers have killed and wounded hundreds of thousands of enemy, and we shall continue to do so until we’ve driven them out of our land.”

“This is not the time and place for speeches,” Kleist said in an admonishing tone.

Anna turned away because her stomach twisted. She wasn’t suited for this at all. She tried to be calm and say little, yet here she’d made a short speech. Kleist was right about that.

She studied the axes on the walls. Why had David sent her? Was it true he trusted her judgment? If so, she should let herself act as naturally as possible. Maybe that was the correct way to handle this.

I must learn to be myself. I can be no other. Hmm. She would be foolish to try to outsmart Kleist. She couldn’t play Gaiseric games with the master. Maybe the best thing would be to lay all the cards on the table.

“Chancellor,” she said, turning back to him. “America’s fighting men are hard-pressed. But we have many millions more ready to take their place. If I may speak plainly with you, sir?” she asked.

“Please,” he said.

“We know the German Dominion sighed accords with Greater China. You have an army ready in Cuba. Your army has many hovercraft and airmobile brigades. We’re ready for your invasion, but for some reason, your formations haven’t hit our beaches yet.”

“No, they have not,” Kleist said, quietly.

“President Sims is curious why your army hasn’t moved.”

Kleist laughed, but there wasn’t anything humorous in it. “Fraulein, the reason why we’ve held back…” He turned away, staring up at the ceiling. Finally, he shook his head and faced her again. His gaze bored into hers, with all its shark-like emotionlessness. He was a predator always on the prowl. It’s who he was.

“The world is a harsh place, Fraulein. Bandits and killers abound. Thieves and plunderers wait for an opportunity to strike. Safety resides in strength. Strength is a matter of money, will and weapons. The Chinese with their Pan-Asian Alliance have more money, more will and far more weapons than anyone else does. They are a juggernaut, and they push their weight around, forcing others into line. You Americans have decided to thwart them. Now look where it has gotten you: in a massive land war, one you are losing.”

“I fail to see your point, Chancellor.”

“Several generations ago, Germany had weapons and will, although we lacked enough numbers. Against our better judgment, one man led us to push our weight around, and we attempted to conquer Europe and Russia. Alas, the armies of the world united against us and ground us down. We lost millions. So did many others. During the latter part of the conflict, America entered that crusade. Wisely, they had allowed the Russians to do the heavy fighting and take the bitterest losses. Now it is quite different. This time around, Germany waits for the right moment to enter the war. Meanwhile, you and the Chinese ruthlessly grind each other down. If I recall my history correctly, after World War II, America was the supreme nation on Earth, partly because they had taken by far the fewest casualties of all the former Great Powers.”

“I see,” Anna said. He is a Gaiseric. “You plan to invade after everyone’s armies have taken horrendous losses, leaving you as the strongest.”

“That is one future path,” Kleist said. “But it isn’t the only possibility. I have other plans.”

“Would you care to tell me this other plan?”

“First, you must understand that the GD forces in Cuba could decisively tip the scales against America or for it.”

“Yes,” Anna said. It was the truth, so she might as well admit it.

“Excellent. We can speak to each other. You aren’t here to attempt to spin American fantasies about your former strength. In the old days, your country could have conquered the world. Those days have long passed. You squandered your glory on fruitless endeavors.”

“I suppose that’s a matter of opinion.”

“Yet, you Americans can still fight. In my study of the past, I have discovered a secret. Anglo-Saxon soldiers fight hardest when cornered. I know. Your country is a mongrel mismatch of nationalities and cultures. Yet its base is still Anglo-Saxon, the British root is still strong in your land. Your country is the most dangerous when its soldiers have nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. I know it is going to be a slugfest to the finish. In that way, you are like old Russia.”

“We will fight,” Anna said.

“Yes, so why should German and other European soldiers die, especially if there is another way to achieve our desires?”

“What are your desires?”

Kleist’s thumbs stopped twirling. He lurched forward, with his thick hands on his knees. He must have been pressing them hard, as the fingertips turned white with pressure. There was nothing pudgy about his face now. The cunning was visible, the sheer ruthlessness.

Anna almost shrank back into her chair. She blinked several times—calm, stay calm. Listen to his words and remember your impressions. This is a very dangerous man.

“The German Dominion is a bulwark for states wishing to keep their unique identity in the world,” Kleist said. “The Pan-Asian Alliance on the other hand is merely a vehicle for China. The same is true of the South American Federation. The Brazilians think to emulate China. They hope to carve slaves states out of your country. They seek to stamp America into the dust bin of history.”

Anna waited.

“One land in North America is unique, a singular entity forced into a nation state it deplores. They have sought entrance into the German Dominion. I would like to see them enter our union. But I would like to achieve this peacefully, with the blessing of the United States. I do not seek war against America.”

“Then why did you sign an accord with China to attack us?” Anna dared ask, surprising herself at her boldness.

The plastic eyes seemed to shine eerily. “We will speak plainly. The Americans like plain speaking, or so it was once said.”

“Yes.”

“Yes,” Kleist said. “We signed the accord because we thought America was much weaker than it now appears to be. The fighting in California impressed my generals. Now we have achieved a secondary goal. Greater China with its Pan-Asian Alliance has becomes the world’s strongest power. We wish to see them weakened, badly weakened. What better way than to spend their military power against you. However, my generals and strategists inform me that you have been caught short, or by surprise, by the sheer volume of Asian power. It is more than conceivable that China shall win and split the United States in two. If they do, we wish to be poised to take premier American land.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We could grab Florida now,” Kleist said. “Bah,” he snapped his fingers. “Germany—the German Dominion wants prime agricultural territory, not the Florida swamps and orange groves. You Americans still have powerful concentrations of troops on the Eastern and Gulf coasts. It would be a bitter fight with what we have in place. A year from now, it would be much different. If we did invade, however, America would be stretched to the breaking point.”

“What is your proposal?” Anna asked.

“We are not in need of prime agricultural land at present,” he said. “For now, we wish to right an injustice. Therefore, we desire Quebec.”

“Excuse me?”

“I propose the United States agree to Quebec joining the German Dominion. We would send troops to secure their national integrity, but otherwise, we will stay out of the present fray.”

Anna tried to wrap her mind around what he was saying. “You want our help to invade Quebec?”

Kleist frowned. “Quebecers are foaming at the mouth once again. They wish to leave Canada. The Canadian Government has sent troops it can ill afford to try to keep the lid on for now. I propose the obvious. The Quebecers trust the French, who in turn trust me. Quebec will join the German Dominion and thereby keep its uniqueness as a French land. They can see that in the German Dominion Wales is for the Welsh, Bavaria is for the Bavarians and Quebec will be for the Quebecers. As you Americans say, it is a win-win-win situation.”

“How does that help America?” Anna asked, dumbfounded.

“Is it not obvious? By agreeing to this, the German troops in Cuba will transfer to Quebec. Those troops will no longer be poised to invade your coasts.”

“You’ll also get your soldiers on the continent without having to fight for it,” Anna said.

“Yes. There is that, too.”

“From Quebec, German soldiers could invade the New England territories or Michigan.”

“We could, but we won’t. Besides, such a transfer will take time. During that time, you gain the use of the Americans soldiers guarding your coastlines. You can transfer those coastal troops and possibly halt the Chinese thrusts into the Midwest.”

“If you’re betraying the Chinese,” Anna said, “how can we trust you to keep your word to us?”

Kleist smiled, and for the first time it seemed genuine. “Ms. Chen, the reason is clear. If we help China now, they will grab the lion’s share of the prime agricultural land in America. How does that benefit the German Dominion? Instead, we gain Quebec, a land with many mineral resources. We encourage you to continue your struggle with Greater China, thereby weakening both of you. We also gain your good will because we have done you a favor.”

“By getting a firm foothold in North America?” Anna asked.

Kleist shrugged. “That is the cost, as you must make our neutrality worth our while.”

“What if instead of that we give Germany—?”

Kleist held up a pudgy hand.

Anna fell silent.

“I am not here to bargain, Ms. Chen. I am telling you our price for neutrality.”

“But America doesn’t own Quebec. How can we give away what isn’t ours?”

“Come, come,” Kleist said, “the Great Powers often divide up the weaker countries at times like this. It has happened throughout history. Just ask the Poles or the Czechs. You must convince the Canadians to free the Quebecers from their enforced union.”

“The Canadians won’t like it.”

“You’re no doubt right,” Kleist said. “But that isn’t our problem. It is yours. Are you interested in the proposal?”

Anna sat in her chair spellbound. She was unsuited for this. She didn’t have the callousness to make such decisions.

“I must speak with the President,” she said.

“Yes, you will do that. And do you know what, Ms. Chen. Your President will agree to the proposal. America is too hard-pressed to do otherwise.”

Anna didn’t know what else to say, so she said nothing, waiting. She would make the call, and she wondered what David was going to say? She didn’t like it, and she didn’t like the further weight of this on David. The situation was grinding him down. It was too much to shoulder, far too much.

Who in their right mind wants to be President?

“Let us adjourn while you make the call,” Kleist said.

Anna nodded.

Kleist clapped his pudgy hands, and soon the big double doors opened, with a hard-faced bodyguard staring at Anna Chen.

Paul Kavanagh sat in a chair, looking at his blood brother Romo. The man sat up in bed, with plastic under his nose and little tubes sticking up his nostrils. The former assassin was in the hospital and had lost weight. He still had a fever, but not as high as earlier.

“I have news,” Romo said.

Paul had just come from having General Ochoa chew him out about Knowles, the man he’d picked up and brought to the city. Since the Chinese Army was between Knowles and his home, the man had no way of getting home other than an insertion. Paul had barely convinced Ochoa that would be a bad idea.

Because of the audio meeting, Paul only barely heard Romo. He was thinking about Knowles. The man had a job now in a processing plant as a forklift driver. He was a good worker, and Paul still felt bad about what he’d done. It didn’t seem as real as it had been that night in the farmhouse. His instinct about Knowles was fading.

Did I think that about him because I was tired?

“Are you listening to me?” Romo asked.

“Sorry,” Paul said. “What are you saying?”

“I have news.”

“So spill it.”

“The Mexican Home Army is stationed nearby in Centennial.”

Paul didn’t sit up, but Romo had his attention. “Is Colonel Valdez with them?” he asked.

“But of course,” Romo said.

“How did you learn about this?”

“I received a phone call from a friend. The Colonel is still very angry with you.”

“And probably he’s now angry with you, too,” Paul said.

“This is true. It is why my friend called: to warn me.”

“So if your friend called, he knows you’re here—obviously.” Paul was thinking aloud.

In Mexico on a SOCOM mission, Paul had lost the Colonel’s daughter, Maria. She’d been his team’s guide. The Chinese had captured her. Colonel Valdez held Paul responsible for the loss. Valdez had sent assassins to kill him. Romo had been the best of those assassins, but Paul had saved his life and they had become blood brothers. The Colonel now hated both of them.

“The Colonel must know you’re here, too,” Paul said. “We should move you somewhere else.”

“Not necessary,” Romo said. “My friend would tell me if the Colonel planned to kill me.”

Paul wasn’t so sure about that. He’d done a little investigation into Colonel Valdez. The man killed those he distrusted. It had become an ingrained habit, and Romo had failed the Colonel, therefore…

“You sure you’re not worried?” Paul asked.

“This is a military hospital. The Colonel wouldn’t send one of his men here and jeopardize his standing with the Americans.”

“You’re dreaming if you believe that. In fact, you can’t believe that. I can get you moved.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Romo said. He yawned and his eyelids looked heavy.

Paul stood. He needed to talk to the chief doctor. “Get some more sleep. Get better. We have work to do, remember?”

“Si. I’ll get better. I just need a few more nights of sleep.”

Paul watched Romo close his eyes. If the man in charge of the hospital couldn’t do anything about this, meaning get him military guards, Paul would have to tell some of the others in SOCOM. He’d work out a rotation system, keeping watch on Romo. It would just be for a few more nights. What a thing… It used to be the enemy of my enemy is my friend. But Colonel Valdez, he collected enemies like some men notched victory points for sleeping with beautiful women. Valdez had a condition, a mental problem, and it wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

It was night as Guardian Inspector Shun Li of East Lightning strode down the corridor of a former underground bank vault. Above, the captured American city was a mass of rubble, ruined buildings and various Chinese headquarters. Down here, the technicians had already reinstalled full power. The lights overhead glared harshly, reflecting off the tiled floor.

Three East Lightning enforcers marched in front of her, their boots crashing in cadence. They were big men in body armor and enclosed helmets with darkened visors. Each cradled a close-combat carbine and would shoot anyone she wanted, at her command. She need merely point and nod or simply say, “Kill.”

Like trained beasts, they were eager to please her. Like beasts, they enjoyed their work.

East Lighting was the Chinese secret police. She was the Guardian Inspector for North America and answered only to Police Minister Xiao of the Ruling Committee.

Shun Li was of average size for a Chinese woman. She kept her dark hair short, barely covering her ears and wore a scarlet uniform with brown straps, reversing the normal East Lightning uniform. A short brown cape fluttered over her shoulders and pigskin gloves clad her hands. She had a peasant girl’s features. They were too wide in Chinese terms to be called beautiful. Even so, she had a pleasing face, with incredibly dark eyes of a compelling nature.

She also had a gift: a nose for politically potent information. She also knew the baseness of human nature and the trouble torture and premeditated killing caused for most people. It was hard to kill in cold blood. It was difficult for most people to inflict pain and make others scream and beg for mercy, even when doing so in the line of duty.

Because of that, East Lighting had learned to use social misfits to great effect. They took the outcasts of society, the sociopaths and the morally deficient. They gave the repugnant leave to follow their basest instincts as they tormented others into revealing critical data. East Lightning rewarded the vile for doing what otherwise would have landed them on death row as serial murders or psychotic rapists.

Even so, the last vestiges of right and wrong at times intruded on the outcasts’ souls. It was an occupational hazard that could cause a gnawing worm of distress in even the hardest of hearts. Such compromised interrogators often fled into drink or drugs for relief. Ironically, it surprised many of the misfits to discover they owned consciences.

They may be ugly, misshapen consciences and often stunted, but nevertheless were things that desperately needed silencing. This was why most interrogators wilted over the years. It’s why some became unhinged or why they turned dangerous like blood-maddened tigers tasting human flesh. The latter butchered the final remnants of their conscience and thereby became devilish and difficult to control.

Because her work mandated perfection and carried the seeds of her own destruction, Guardian Inspector Shun Li carefully watched her three enforcers. She hunted for the telltale signs. Too often in the past, East Lightning had sent hit teams to kill the killers, those who had become drunk on their task of carnage.

As Guardian Inspector, she had sent many otherwise fine East Lightning officers to the front to die. Earlier this year, Captain Wei had died in California. He had been a cunning operator, but the signs had been quite evident the last time she’d spoken with him. Men like him were careful lairs, very difficult to uncover. It was one more reason why she needed to be ruthless.

As she strode down the underground corridor with her short brown cape fluttering, Shun Li shrugged. Before his reassignment, Captain Wei had discovered useful information. Possibly, it had been wrong to engineer his death, but that was the price of being a torturer. His time had come and she had done her duty for the sake of Greater China.

When will someone come for me?

Her eyes tightened. She didn’t like to think about that, but she refused to lie to herself. If she watched these below, someone above watched her. She had long ago decided that the key to her survival was to keep the blood-madness at bay. She refused to enjoy killing. She refused to retreat into drink or drugs. She was beginning to wonder, however, if she used sex as her release. Even now, as her three enforcers marched ahead of her, she watched the play of their muscled buttocks. They were strong, powerful men with large appetites in all things. And the things the four of them did together in the bedroom…

Shun Li scowled so she could feel the lines appear in her forehead. Understanding hit her in the gut. The tasks are getting to me. I have done this too long.

She almost faltered as panic threatened. Do you realize what you’re admitting? She had indulged in bloodletting too long. Deciding who lived and who died—I have to give up my post before an executioner comes for me.

If that was true…Her three enforcers must die. They knew too many secrets about her that no one must ever learn.

I must cover my tracks, beginning today.

Ahead of her, the three enforcers paused before a closed door.

I have no more time for contemplation. I have a task to perform.

“Enter,” she said briskly.

With a gloved hand, the first enforcer opened the door. Then the three of them surged into the room, one after the other. A man inside gasped loud enough for Shun Li to hear.

She allowed herself a slight grin. It was time to play her persona. But I must not enjoy this. No. I do the task for the good of China.

Shun Li entered the chamber. An East Lighting major stood behind his desk, scowling at the three carbines leveled at him. He ran to fat, this major, with a big belly. Still, the man had presence and stern features.

“What is the meaning of this, Guardian Inspector?” the major asked.

“I’m paying you a visit,” Shun Li said. “Please, sit down.”

The major glanced at the carbines and lifted a sardonic eyebrow at her.

Shun Li said nothing. The man kept his calm, which annoyed her. Maybe he needed breaking before they could proceed. She raised a hand as if to adjust her cape. The gloved hand stopped and she lifted a finger.

Underneath his enclosed helmet, the first enforcer grinned. He had several gold teeth. Coming around the desk, the enforcer swung the butt of his carbine, striking the major across the chin. The fat major catapulted back into his chair, his head thudded against the wall behind him.

Shun Li waved her hand.

The enforcer backed away, moving stiffly like an enraged hound.

Fear and pain shined in the major’s eyes. Gingerly, he touched his jaw, moving it tenderly from side to side. The sternness had departed. He deflated and his shoulders hunched.

In a hoarse voice, he said, “This is an unwarranted—”

The enforcer moved fast, lifting his carbine, tucking the butt against his shoulder and aiming at the East Lightning major. The man choked on his words as terror replaced the fear. It made his otherwise stern features seem pasty and doughy.

Suddenly, Shun Li was weary of this. The exchange seldom varied and it had become tedious.

The major turned away from the carbine and looked at her with pleading and hope. Once, she had enjoyed the range of emotions and enjoyed playing with a tormenter as a child would a new toy. The interrogator would have ruled too long in his spider kingdom, acting like a god, bestowing life or demanding death. He had forgotten how to deal with someone slapping him in the face or pointing a gun at his chest. To see the knowledge of his coming demise glow in his eyes had always made her grin inwardly.

Yes, I’ve enjoyed my tasks too much. Now I must escape this death-spiral or soon I will be the one sitting in the major’s chair.

Yet how could she escape? She was a spider with a larger web, but a spider nonetheless waiting for the coming wasp of higher command.

“Guardian Inspector,” the major said, “I would like to—”

“Quiet,” she said. “Let me think.”

One of the enforcers glanced at her, aiming his dark visor in her direction.

Shun Li suppressed a shudder. It felt as if the future looked at her, a grim reaper cutting her thread of life.

She almost said, “Kill him,” meaning the major. It would be a form of release from the awful knowledge of her own mortality. Fear thudded in her chest. Normally, she assuaged her wilted conscience by feeding it blood, attempting to drown it perhaps. She did have the blood madness, didn’t she? Is it too late for me?

Instead of giving the kill order, she snapped her mouth shut so her teeth clicked together. There had to be a way out of this self-made trap. She didn’t want to pay for—they’re not crimes. I did this for the good of China.

“Wait outside in the hall,” she told the enforcers.

The three killers hesitated. Then the first turned without a word and headed for the door. The other two followed. In a moment, the door closed behind them.

Shun Li regarded the major. He had bad skin and kept a warding hand hovering over his no doubt painful jaw. Still, the man was clever. If he seemed cowed now, she knew he schemed like a rat. It would be good to let him see the whip.

“You are slated to die,” she said.

Ha! His lower lip trembled. Yes, maybe he wasn’t so clever after all. Maybe she could—

“But I have decided to change your fate,” she said.

“You’re giving me mercy?” he asked in surprise.

The concept and the novelty of it struck her hard. Indeed, it felt as if a kung fu fighter heel-kicked her in the chest. Her mouth dropped open. What an interesting notion. Mercy, maybe by showing mercy she could repay Fate for all the blood she had shed. How much mercy would that take?

The thought made her frown. Maybe it would take several lifetimes of mercy, but she didn’t have that long. She needed a way out now.

The major’s lower lip trembled even more. “Guardian Inspector,” he said in a weasel tone, “I would like to show you something if I may?’

“Stay in your chair. Tell me this something instead.”

He nodded meekly and perspiration appeared on his face. “I have uncovered a fact the Chairman might find significant.”

“Have you filed it?”

The major shook his head.

“Why have you waited to inform your superiors about this knowledge?” she asked.

He looked down at his desk. “I’m due back in China. I leave in two days, in fact. I-I had planned to report this directly to Police Minister Xiao.”

He’s lying. There is something else going on here.

“Well, what is this significant something?” she asked. “Hurry up and tell me.”

He glanced up at her. The cunning was plain in his eyes. Yes, this one thought he was very clever.

“I will trade you the information,” he said.

Shun Li couldn’t help but grin. She had heard similar words so many times that it seemed impossible he believed it would work. Still, today…today, she would be merciful. She had to be careful, though. The major might have hidden recorders.

“I don’t understand this talk of trades,” she said, while looking at him significantly, letting him see she was trading. “I have personally come to inform you of tasks well done. Headquarters is pleased with your efforts.”

He grinned at her, and his eyes shone with newfound hope. He even took his protecting hand away from his jaw.

Shun Li found herself smiling in return. She smiled enough to let her lips part and reveal the tips of her teeth. Mercy felt good. Usually, she would have made the offender squirm and plead for his life. Today, she gave him hope, even though he was a pig of a drug addict and he had lost his better judgment. He deserved a nasty end, but not today because her conscience needed balancing, needing purging from its excessive bloodletting.

“You were saying,” she prompted.

“Yes, yes, I was going to personally tell Police Minister Xiao that I have discovered two pieces of vital information for the war effort.”

“Tell me now. I will decide how vital this information is.”

“Yes, of course.” He cleared his throat. “Firstly, I have discovered that there is but a single American Behemoth manufacturing plant.”

“This is true?” she asked. The Behemoth tanks were a nightmare, although they had remained hidden during the summer and fall offensives. It seemed inconceivable to her the Americans only built them in one location, as the tank had struck Chinese Command as a war-winning weapons system.

“It’s an amazing thing,” the major agreed. “But I have clear proof it is true. I have also discovered where the single plant lies: in Denver, Colorado.”

Hmm. She could see why the major wanted to be the one to show this to Xiao. This was incredible news. Still, how true was it?

“What proof do you have?” she asked.

“May I open my drawer?”

“Do so,” she said, although she dropped a gloved hand onto the butt of her holstered pistol. If the major brought up a weapon, he would die.

Slowly and carefully, the major opened a drawer, taking out a folder. He opened it, turning the papers to face her, and he began to explain how he had stumbled onto the information.

Shun Li craned for a look. Soon, she nodded in appreciation. This was incredibly vital news. The Behemoth tanks had gone a long way toward defeating the Californian invasion earlier this spring. She knew Army High Command dearly wanted to know where the Behemoths were hiding. If China could knock out the sole manufacturing plant—

“The Police Minister will welcome this news,” she said.

“I give you this prize,” he said, sliding the folder across the desk to her.

A thought struck. Had this prize come to her because she was being merciful? Maybe she could use this news to help her escape her fate as a tired Guardian Inspector. Maybe she could maneuver herself back into a post in China. With this, she might be able to maneuver onto the Police Minister’s staff in Beijing.

Shun Li picked up the folder.

“I would also like to give you this,” he said, “The transcript of the interviews.” He opened another drawer and slapped down a thicker folder.

“Are any of the prisoners still alive?” she asked.

“Alas, no, each one perished under questioning.”

Shun Li shook her head. Often, this was the sign an interrogator had lost his touch: when his prisoners began to expire under his ministrations.

“I assure you it couldn’t be helped,” he said.

“Of course,” she said. “I will write that in my report.”

The major smiled. “May I say, Guardian Inspector, that this—”

His words failed as she drew her pistol. He looked at her openmouthed. He must be wondering what she was going to do. She was giving him mercy. Headquarters had decided he must die. There was no escaping the decision. Her mercy had been in letting him think—these last few minutes of life—that he was going to live. Her mercy was in making his last moments enjoyable by thinking he could barter with Death.

“I thought we had a bargain,” he whispered.

“We did and we do,” she said, aiming at his forehead and pulling the trigger three times.

He smashed back, with three neatly placed holes smoking in his forehead.

Shun Li waved her pistol in the air to clear the smoke. Behind her, the door flew open and the first enforcer thrust the carbine through the opening. When he saw her, he relaxed.

Picking up the two folders, Shun Li tucked them under an arm. “Take him to the incinerator,” she said.

The enforcers let her pass. Afterward, they hurried into the major’s office. She headed for the surface. Here was priceless information indeed. Yes, she must get this to Police Minister Xiao tonight.

As she increased her pace, Shun Li frowned. It was funny, but giving mercy didn’t make her feel any better. Why was that? Likely, mercy was highly overrated and this proved it.

How can I escape my fate? I must discover a way before they send someone to kill me.