The Lotus Eaters

National (Parilla's) Presidential Palace, Ciudad Balboa, Balboa, Terra Nova

The police van was the same model as some of those used by the Legion. It was not longer obviously a police vehicle, however, having been given a paint job in legionary colors by one of Balboa's many highly talented body and paint workers. It was also the same model as that used by the guard on Parilla's palace for the changing of the guard, which was rather a less formal exercise in Balboa than it was in, say, Anglia.

In any case, the nine men in the van weren't interested in formality. Nor was the guard on the gate interested in much but that they looked right, their identification cards looked right, their uniforms were legionary, and the van wasn't inherently suspicious. He passed them through with a smile and a wave.

Only when past the gate did this portion of the hostage rescue team remove their heavier arms from bags sitting at their feet. Magazines were quickly loaded into the side wells of submachine guns and then the bolts were jacked. There were suppressors already screwed onto the muzzles. The weapons were the same Pound submachine guns as used by the close-in presidential guard, in lieu of the more common F-26 assault rifle that was standard Legion issue.

The team had opted for the unsubtle. As soon as the van stopped in front of the palace, the side sliding door popped open and a half dozen men stepped out. These walked purposefully toward the two guards on the front entrance and shot them down without warning. The only sounds made were the coughing of the submachine guns and the gurgling death rattles of the guards.

Though the "rescue" team had plastic explosive in case the door needed blasting, and a police locksmith, in fact the door was open. They'd had and studied the floor plans exhaustively, but assumed, not unreasonably, that at this time of night Parilla would most likely be in bed with his wife. Two men remained on the door, after pulling the guards' bodies inside. The other four raced upstairs, soft soled, high grip shoes making little more noise than would a cat on the marble steps.

Parilla's door was open as well. As silently as possible, the chief of the kidnappers turned the knob and gave it a slight push, letting it continue to swing open on its own.

Then came the rush, the sudden throwing on of the lights, and a piercing scream from Parilla's wife.

One of the attackers cuffed her into silence, while another stroked the folding metal but of his submachine gun across the president's chin. Parilla, stunned into silence, was quickly turned over and cuffed. The chief of the team then said, "Presidente Parilla, you are under arrest, by order of the legitimate President of the Republic, for election fraud, war crimes, crimes against humanity, and narcotrafficking." The man then spoke a code word into a small radio.

"Get him to the helicopter pad."