Perkins led Mac around the circular “war pit” to a side room. It was separated from the pit by a curtain that consisted of long leather strips. A wooden block was attached to the wall under a plaque that read, LIEUTENANT COLONEL WESLEY CROWLEY.
Perkins rapped his knuckles on the block, and Mac heard a voice say, “Enter.”
Perkins stepped inside first, came to attention, and announced himself. Then it was Mac’s turn. “Captain Robin Macintyre, reporting for duty, sir .”
Crowley was seated behind a wood table. His neck-length blond hair was way out of compliance with regs and parted in the middle. And, while the army didn’t allow mustaches or goatees, Crowley had one of each.
And the eccentricities didn’t stop there. Rather than camos, Crowley was dressed in a buckskin shirt with chest fringe and colorful beadwork. The overall look reminded Mac of General Custer. Was that intentional? And if so, why ? Especially given the way Custer’s career came to an end. Two pearl-handled Colt .45 semiauto pistols were revealed when Crowley stood. “Welcome to Fort Carney, Captain… We’re lucky to have an officer like you… If you’ll excuse us, Lieutenant, the captain and I have some things to discuss.”
Perkins came to attention, saluted, and did an about-face. The leather strips made a swishing sound as he left.
“Please,” Crowley said, “have a seat. So you were serving under my classmate, Major Frank Granger. Is he still a brown-nosing, by-the-book asshat?”
Mac couldn’t remember hearing a superior officer refer to a peer that way before and wasn’t sure how to respond. Was Crowley joking? Or was he serious? There was no way to be sure. “Major Granger is my CO, sir… And he sends his regards.”
Crowley chuckled. “Well played, Macintyre… Well played. Enough happy horseshit. Let’s get down to brass tacks. The powers that be gave me this command for three reasons: To get rid of me, to get rid of me, and to get rid of me.
“But I’m going to surprise the spineless bastards by tracking Sergeant Robert Howard down, removing his balls, and hanging them over my door.”
“Sir, yes, sir.”
“And that,” Crowley continued, “will be in spite of the Confederate traitors they sent me. Rebs! Can you believe it? Fighting for the North. But not you, Captain… You’re from Idaho. I checked.”
Mac didn’t know what to say, except, “Sir, yes, sir.”
“Sleep with a gun,” Crowley advised. “That’s what I do. Who knows? The whole lot of them might go over the hill. But not before we nail Howard! I’ll give you two days to settle in. Then we’re going to launch Operation Hydra.”
“Hydra, sir?”
“Yes. Howard refers to himself as the warlord of warlords. And it’s true. No less than five lesser warlords have sworn allegiance to him. His logo is a serpent with six heads. I plan to sever them one by one. Perkins has the operational stuff. Study it and be ready to roll.”
Mac knew a dismissal when she heard one and stood. “Is there anything else, sir?”
“Yes. My other company commanders are a bit green… So I’m going to name you as XO. Perkins will bring you up to speed.”
Serving as second-in-command to a nutcase was the last thing Mac wanted to do. But there was only one answer she could give, and that was, “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.” The meeting was over.
FORT KNOX, KENTUCKY
Rather than helicopter into the American base, Canada’s ambassador was forced to land in Louisville, where a limo was waiting to pick him up. Because in the wake of Canada’s attack on Maine, the two countries were theoretically at war… even if none had been declared. And Fort Knox’s commanding officer wasn’t about to let hostile aircraft enter his airspace.
So with a police escort ahead of and behind his car, the ambassador was forced to endure a long ride. And the route had been chosen with care. It took him onto a freeway that was half-clogged with military traffic before taking him to Fort Knox, where even more military might was on display.
Finally, the ambassador was delivered to the front of an enormous tent. Sloan no longer lived there. But the tent had become a symbol of his presidency, and he continued to use it for ceremonial purposes. Secretary of State Henderson was waiting out front to greet the ambassador and escort him inside.
First, the two men had to pass through the gauntlet of reporters that Besom had allowed to witness the arrival. They peppered the diplomats with questions. “Mr. Secretary! Is the United States going to surrender to Canada?”
“Mr. Ambassador! Is it true that Canada has entered into an alliance with the Confederacy?”
“Mr. Secretary! Is the United States planning to invade Canada?”
Henderson waved to them before following Ambassador McGowan into the tent’s chilly interior. An aide led them back to Sloan’s office. The fact that it was equipped with campaign-style furniture and was reminiscent of a Civil War general’s field quarters was no accident. There were some modern amenities as well, including electric lights and the bank of flat-panel TVs mounted on a roll-around rack.
Sloan had met McGowan before, but as Secretary of Energy and under more pleasant circumstances. Now, as they shook hands, the mood was anything but cordial. “Mr. President.”
“Mr. Ambassador… Please have a seat. Would you care for some refreshments?”
A space heater was purring in a corner, but McGowan could still see his breath. “Yes, a cup of tea would be nice.”
“Good,” Sloan replied. “One will be along shortly. So, let’s speak frankly… Your government sent soldiers into our sovereign territory, where they killed a number of our troops and civilians. I’m prepared to accept an immediate apology and your promise to withdraw your forces by noon tomorrow.”
McGowan opened his mouth to speak but closed it as the tea arrived. Once both men had been served, the conversation resumed. “I will convey your offer to my government,” McGowan said stiffly. “But it’s my duty to inform you that an apology and withdrawal are extremely unlikely. Some of our leading legal scholars have called the Webster-Ashburton Treaty’s legality into question and, until that matter is resolved, the troops must remain.”
Henderson cleared his throat. “The treaty that Ambassador McGowan refers to brought the Pork and Beans War of 1838 to an end. No shots were fired.”
“As I said,” McGowan said, “it is our wish to renegotiate what was, and is, a lopsided treaty. The territory presently occupied by our troops is rightfully a part of Canada. We suggest a cooling-off period of sixty days with discussions to follow. Or, if you prefer, the United States can simply cede the area in question to Canada.”
It was all grade-A horseshit. The Canadians were trying to aid the Confederacy by opening negotiations that would drag on and on. In the meantime, Sloan would have to park a regiment of troops in Maine to prevent any further incursions and placate thousands of irate voters.
Sloan sighed and took a sip of coffee. “Okay, Mr. Ambassador… Have it your way. Please direct your attention to the television monitors. If you examine the programming closely, you’ll find that all of the feeds are coming in from Canada. And, all of them are coming to us via satellites launched by other countries. That’s because you have no space program to speak of. It’s been a thrifty policy but one that’s going to cost you since we’re about to destroy the satellite that carries the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. Secretary Henderson? Give the order.”
Henderson was seated next to McGowan. He spoke into a cell phone. “This is Secretary Henderson. Kill it.”
Читать дальше