“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.