Matthew Reilly - Area 7

the liberals, the dandies of America who talk a lot, produce

nothing, and yet consume everything. And Caesar wants an

America without the North.

"For with the Sinovirus and its cure in his possession,

he will have what's left of the nation at his mercy. Every

man, woman and child--black and white--will owe their

life to him and his precious vaccine."

The President winced.

"I imagine the black population would be eliminated

first, with the vaccine being administered only to white

Americans. Considering Caesar's racist tendencies, I assume

it was the black population he was talking about when

he mentioned 'human waste products.'

"But remember what I said before: he has to do two

things to get what he wants: he has to have Kevin in his possession, and he also has to kill me. For no revolution--no

true revolution--can take place without the visible and humiliating

destruction of the previous regime. The execution

of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette in France; the imprisonment

area 7 373

of the Czar in Russia in 1918; Hitler's complete "Nazification' of Germany in the thirties.

"Anybody can kill a President, if they are determined

enough. A revolutionary, however, has to do it in front of the

people he desires to rule--showing them that the previous

ruling system no longer deserves their respect.

"And don't be mistaken, Caesar Russell isn't doing this

in front of America. He's doing it in front of the most extreme

elements of America--the Timothy McVeighs of the

country; the poor, the angry, the disenfranchised, the white

supremacists, the white trash, the antifederal militias--those

parts of the nation, located mainly in the Southern states,

that wouldn't give two shits if the cappuccino-drinking liberals

in New York, Chicago and San Francisco were blasted

off the face of the earth."

"But the country would be decimated ..." Schofield

said. "Why would he want to rule a destroyed country?"

"Yes, but you see, Caesar doesn't see it that way," the

President said. "To his mind, the country wouldn't be destroyed.

It would merely be purified, renewed, cleansed. It

would be a new beginning. The southern city centers would

be intact. The Midwest would still be largely intact, able to

provide sustenance."

Schofield asked, "What about the other armed forces?

What would he do about them?"

"Captain, as you would well know, the U.S. Air Force

receives more funding than all the other armed services

combined ... Sure, it may have only 385,000 personnel, but it

has more missiles and strike capability than all the other

services combined. If, by virtue of the Brotherhood and his

previous commands, Caesar has even a fiftieth of the Air

Force behind him, he could scramble his bombers and take

out every key Army and Navy installation in this country--

plus every Air Force base that was not allied with him--before

they could even raise a small counteroffensive effort.

"Foreign defense would be the same. With its Stealth

bombers, strike fighters and a stockpile of nuclear missiles

374

Matthew Reilly

greater than that of any other country in the world, Caesar's

new Air Force, acting alone, would be more than capable of

handling any hostile foreign incursion.

"Captain, make no mistake, to Caesar's warped mind,

this scenario would be perfect: America would be isolationist

once again, completely self-sufficient, and governed by

an absolutely lily-white regime. Back to its pre-Civil War

state."

"Mother Mcfeer..." Mother breathed.

Schofield frowned.

"Okay, then," he said, "so what if Russell can't pull this

off? What if he fails? Surely he isn't just going to accept defeat

and walk away. I can't see him simply disarming his

bombs if he loses and saying, 'Oh well, I was wrong, you

win.'"

"No," the President said seriously. "That worries me,

too. Because if by some miracle we do survive all this, the

question becomes: what has Caesar got in store for us then?"

after prising apart the personnel elevator's exterior

doors, Book II and Juliet Janson came to the "top door" exit.

Juliet entered the code Harper had revealed earlier:

5564771.

With a sharp hiss, the heavy titanium door opened.

They raced down the concrete corridor beyond it, each

holding one of Book's pistols.

They ran for about forty yards before, abruptly, they

burst through another door and found themselves standing

inside an ordinary-looking aircraft hangar. Shafts of brilliant

sunlight slanted in through the hangar's wide-open doors.

The hangar was completely empty: no planes, no cars, no ...

Goliath must have been waiting behind the door.

Juliet stepped out first, only to feel the barrel of a P-90

press up against the side of her head.

"Bang-bang, you're dead," Goliath said oafishly.

He squeezed the trigger just as Book II—whom Goliath

hadn't seen yet—lunged forward and with lightning speed

swiped back the P-90's charging handle, ejecting the round

that was in its chamber.

Click!

The gun against Juliet's head fired nothing.

"Wha ... ?" Goliath snapped to look at Book II.

And then everything happened very fast.

In one movement, Juliet grabbed the barrel of Goliath's

P-90 and whipped up her own gun, at the same moment as

Goliath's other enormous fist—which still held Schofield's

Maghook—came rushing at her face. The Maghook hit

Juliet on the side of the head, and she and the P-90 went

376

Matthew Reilly

sprawling to the floor. Juliet hit the ground hard. The P-90

clattered away.

Book raised his Beretta--but not fast enough. Goliath

caught his gun hand ... and growled at him.

Now the two men were holding the same gun.

Goliath thrust his Frankensteinian chin right up close to

Book II's face as he began depressing Book's own trigger

finger.

Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam!

As the gun boomed, Goliath brought it around in a wide

arc, angling it so that in a few shots' time, it would be

pointed at Book's head.

It was like an arm wrestle.

Book II tried with all his might to stop the movement of

the gun, but Goliath was far too strong.

Blam! Blam! Blam!

The gun was now pointed at Book's left arm--

Blam!

Book's left bicep exploded. Blood sprayed all over his

head. He roared with pain.

Then before he knew it, the gun barrel was pointing directly

at his face and--

Click.

Out of ammo.

"That's better." Goliath grinned. "Now we can have a

fair fight."

He discarded the gun and--onehanded--grabbed

Book by the throat and thrust him up against the wall.

Book's feet dangled twelve inches off the ground.

He struggled uselessly in Goliath's grip, his wounded

arm burning. He let fly with a weak punch that hit Goliath

square on the forehead.

The big man didn't even seem to feel the blow. Indeed,

Book's fist seemed to just bounce off his skull.

Goliath chuckled stupidly. "Steel plate. May not make

me too bright, but it sure makes me tough."

Goliath brought up the Maghook in his spare hand, so

that it was now pointed at Book's eyes.

area 7 377

"What about you, soldier boy? How strong is your

skull? You think this little hook gun could crush it? What do

you say we find out ..."

He pressed the Maghook's cold magnetic head up

against Book II's nose.