Franklin sighed. “Look, I know you’re pissed, but this is something that I have to do.”

  “I don’t see why,” Manning answered grimly. “What if you get yourself killed? What then?”

  “We’ve been through this before,” Franklin insisted. “Blue would take over, that’s what vice presidents are for.”

  “No disrespect to the vice president,” Manning replied evenly, “but it’s you that people look up to. Besides, you don’t have anything to prove. You risk your life every time you get up in the morning.”

  Franklin nodded. “Thanks, Jack, that means plenty coming from you… But the fact is that I do have something to prove, both to the people who still believe that I’m a collaborator and to myself. Besides, given the way that you and your team take care of me, what’s the worst that could happen? A hangnail? A mosquito bite? Some damp clothes?”

  Manning chuckled in spite of himself, as the lifter banked to the right and started its vertical descent. A voice came over the intercom. It belonged to a Ra ‘Na pilot and sounded stiff. “We have arrived over the landing zone. There may be a need to take evasive action. Please check your safety harnesses.”

  Comfortable in the knowledge that Ra ‘Na fighters had already flown through the LZ, drawn fire from computer-controlled surface-to-air missile batteries, and destroyed them, Manning checked his laptop computer. The screen showed a flight of fifteen lifters, each represented by a red delta, each five minutes apart. The plan called for Lifter One to land, off-load its troops, and take off.

  Then, assuming the LZ was reasonably secure, the second lifter, the one that carried the president of the United States, would make its approach. Once the “Big Dog” hit the ground, the security team would throw a second ring of protection around him while Lifter Two dumped its containerized cargo. The arrangement was far from ideal, since Manning would have preferred to bring the president in on the last ship, but it was the best deal he’d been able to negotiate.

  Franklin, eager to catch a glimpse of the landing zone, turned to peer out through the window. Mist consumed the aircraft, raindrops streaked across the window, and the lifter lurched as the increasingly choppy air battered it about. Then, just as the president began to wonder if the clouds went all the way to the ground, the jungle appeared. The Sauron fortress slid into view a few moments later. The first thing Franklin noticed was that the Guatemalan citadel was the virtual twin of the one near Bellingham. Or what the one on Hell Hill looked before the spaceship plowed into it. There were three towers, all in a cloverleaf pattern, and connected by short, sturdy wings. Blackened areas indicated where the Ra ‘Na continued to take potshots at the complex from orbit.

  Now, as the aircraft lost more altitude, the president noticed two features that the northern site lacked, a water-filled moat and what appeared to be an artificial lake filled to overflowing with black, rain-slicked hulls.

  In fact, having looked a bit closer, Franklin thought he could see where a few shuttles had attempted to land on top of those already down, creating pileups and triggering at least one fire. Of course there were lifters too, aircraft identical to the one he was on, parked helter-skelter all around the citadel’s perimeter. That meant the pilots would need to land farther out, well away from the complex, which suited Assault Force Commander Deac Smith just fine. The ex-Ranger was concerned about the possibility of booby traps, computer-controlled weapons emplacements, and who knew what else. That’s why his sappers would go in first, search for booby traps, and clear a path to the fortress itself.

  The first lifter was down by that time. There had been no opposition, which meant that Smith, a platoon of his best troops, plus a heavy weapons platoon, had secured the LZ. Franklin knew he shouldn’t be scared, not surrounded by his bodyguard, but felt that way anyway. When the others went through a weapons check he did likewise, pulling the .9mm out of its shoulder holster, ejecting the magazine to ensure that it was full, and slamming it back into place.

  Manning watched the president from the corner of his eye, hoped the politician wouldn’t shoot himself, but knew better than to say anything. The practice had paid off, and while something less than an expert, Franklin could hit the broad side of a barn. Which, assuming the security team was on the ball, he would never need to do.

  Lifter Two descended through the rain, swayed as a gust of wind hit the twin hulls from the southeast, and squatted twenty feet from the welcoming orange smoke. Vilo Kell, who had been a Ranger himself and understood how Smith wanted things done, led a heavily armed team consisting of Jonathan Wimba, Garly Mol, Rafik Alaweed, and Gozen Asad out into the downpour, where they formed a secondary ring of protection within the existing perimeter. Manning waited for the go-ahead to come in over his headset, nodded to Franklin, and followed the president out into the rain. Orvo Orvin, the security team’s com specialist, and Jill Ji-Hoon followed behind.

  Franklin felt a spatter of rain hit the top of his unprotected head, felt it stop as Asad produced an umbrella, and wondered if he should object. No one else was equipped with an umbrella so why should he have one? But, based on the ear-to-ear grin plastered across Asad’s face, Franklin suspected the agent had thought to bring the implement himself. The kind of thing people always tried to do for Jina. He nodded to the young man, said “Thanks, Goz,” and saw the grin get even wider.

  The lifter’s engines wound up, the aircraft lifted off, and another came in to land.

  “So,” Franklin said, addressing his comment to Manning, “what now?”

  “Now we wait,” Manning said calmly, rain pouring down off his bush hat. “There’s no way to know what kind of stuff the bugs left for us to stumble over… Smith will let us know when it’s safe to move.”

  Franklin, who had imagined himself being among the first to arrive at the citadel, managed to hide his disappointment. Maybe Manning had been right, maybe he should have agreed to come in last, rather than stand there in the rain. Still, this was where the action would soon take place, and there was no way that he could bear to miss it.

  The minutes ticked by, more lifters landed, and more troops hit the ground. Most of them were human, but a contingent of Ra ‘Na marines arrived as well, all led by a now familiar face. Franklin bent at the waist in order to shake Fra Pol’s hand. “It’s good to see you again, Fra Pol, but I’m surprised Dro Rul allowed you to come.”

  Water ran off the Ra ‘Na’s fur, and he grinned. “No offense, Mr. President, but look who’s talking! Besides, I forgot to ask him.”

  Franklin laughed. It was clear that no matter who ended up in charge, Pol would continue to ignore them. A true revolutionary through and through.

  The conversation was interrupted when one of Deac’s Demons materialized out of the downpour. He wore camos and clutched an assault rifle to his chest. The name “McKay” was hand-lettered on his helmet cover. He’d been a cop, and it showed. “An adult female approached the perimeter, sir. She knows how to get inside the citadel, sir, or that’s what she claims. Deac Smith is out with the sappers. Would you care to speak with her?”

  Glad to have something to do, Franklin nodded. “Sure, bring her in.”

  Manning spoke into his mike. “Snake One to Snake Four… Accompany Trooper McKay, check to make sure the woman is clean, and bring her in. Over.”

  Mol had been facing west with her back to the president. She said, “Roger that, One. I’m on it. Four out,” and jogged in from where she’d been stationed. That created a hole, which the other agents covered by pulling back.

  When it came, the boom was so muted by distance and the muffling effect of the rain that Franklin looked to Manning for confirmation. “Was that some sort of explosion?”

  The security chief nodded and turned to Orvin. “Got anything?”

  The com specialist was monitoring Smith’s command channel. He nodded. “The advance party encountered some obstacles. They’re making a path.”

  There were more explosions and Manning wondered what “encountered” meant. Had the obstacles been detected ahead of time? Or “encountered” as someone died? He shivered and hoped for the former.

  Franklin was chatting with Pol, learning the latest on the effort to sanitize the fleet, when Mol returned from her errand. The president turned to discover that although the woman who accompanied her was a good deal smaller, and dressed in what could only be described as rags, her personality was considerable indeed. It seemed to fill the space around her. Not only that, but the woman was pretty, very pretty, with perfectly even features, a nice figure, and big brown eyes. They stared at the politician with a strange sort of intensity—as if determined to make an impression.

  “This is Dr. Maria Sanchez-Jones,” Mol said dryly, as if there was something about the woman she didn’t particularly like, “and she’s clean. Dr. Jones, this is Alexander Franklin, president of the United States.”

  Franklin summoned the sort of smile once reserved for influential business people, religious leaders, and foreign dignitaries. “Good morning! Please, step under the umbrella, it’s wet out there!”

  It had been a long time since anyone had treated Jones in the manner to which she had once been accustomed—and the courtesy was sufficient to produce a pageant-quality smile. “Thank you, Mr. President. I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you and your troops. Does this mean that the Saurons have been defeated?”

  The woman was close now, extremely close, and for the first time since Jina’s death Franklin felt a strong sense of attraction. He shook his head. “No, Dr. Jones, there’s been some progress, but we’re a long way from total victory. In fact, based on recent intelligence, it appears that the bugs came up with a way to increase the number of nymphs produced by some members of their population. Just another reason why it’s so important to destroy the complex.”

  Jones liked the man. She moved fractionally closer. “My friends call me Maria. That’s why I came—to help you get inside.”

  “I’m all ears,” Franklin responded. “Please proceed.”

  Jones hooked a thumb back over her shoulder. “As you know by now, the aliens forced us to construct the citadel over a river, which flows down under the towers and exits from the far side. They made use of the flow to fill the moat, create the artificial lake, and provide the slaves with drinking water. They also used it as a way to rid themselves of waste. Pipes stick straight down and empty into the river. In fact that’s how I escaped… I dropped through a pipe, fell into a pool, and the water carried me downstream.”

  Franklin listened with interest and respect. The woman had guts, that was for sure, and he felt a growing sense of respect. “So, what are you saying? That we could go downstream, work our way back up, and access one of those pipes?”

  “No,” Jones replied honestly, “you couldn’t. The pipes are way too small… but he could.”

  Both Franklin and Manning turned to see that the doctor was pointing at Pol. The Ra ‘Na, still standing in the rain, saw their eyes turn his way. “Who? Me?”

  “Yes,” the anthropologist answered emphatically, “assuming that you could devise a way to reach the pipes from the water below, then work your way up through them, it should be possible to cut your way out.”

  “All it would take would be a few of them,” Manning said thoughtfully, “and they could open the doors from the inside.”

  The entire group turned in response to the distant pop, pop, pop of automatic weapons fire. Orvin pressed the earphones in against his ears. “The advance party ran up against some automatic weapons emplacements, sir. They took casualties but continue to probe the Sauron defenses.”

  The mention of casualties caused Manning to look across the rainswept clearing to the point where an army-issue field hospital had been established. The self-erecting shelter bore a large red cross. Sool would be in there, along with Dixie and a team of Ra ‘Na med techs. He felt a sudden yearning but managed to push it away.

  “Damn!” Franklin said enthusiastically. “That sounds promising. What do you think, Fra Pol? Would such a climb be possible?”

  The cleric shuddered, hoped no one would notice, and imagined what such a venture would entail. The human hadn’t mentioned how far off the water the pipes were located—but there were ways to close that kind of gap. No, the real horror would begin the moment that some poor fool entered a pitch-black pipe, and painstakingly worked their way upwards. And eventually, once they made it to the top, what then? It would be necessary to cut their way out, sneak through darkened passageways, and access the front door. Not a pleasant prospect and one that scared the dra out of him. But there was only one answer that could be given, so he gave it. “Yes, sir, assuming that we find everything pretty much the way she described it.”

  All eyes returned to Jones, and she shrugged. “There’s no way to know… I haven’t been back.”

  “Okay,” Franklin said, “I think it’s worth a try… Orvin, get a message to Smith, explain what we’re up to, and tell him we’ll stay in touch.”

  The com tech nodded, and the message went out.

  • • •

  Deac Smith ducked as another automatic weapon opened up. Darts stitched a line along the ground only one foot in front of his position, threw tiny fountains of water into the air, and exploded like firecrackers. Not big explosions, the kind a grenade would make, but smaller explosions that could still do damage. Someone screamed, and Smith uttered an uncharacteristic swear word as a trooper low-crawled in beside him. “I have Snake Three on the horn, sir… The Big Dog is on the move.”

  Activated by who knows what, hundreds of self-propelled mines surfaced from somewhere below the surface of the muck and started to move outward. A machine gun opened up, detonated half a dozen of the devices, and shrapnel whined through the air. A piece of it hit one of the troopers in the head. His head fell forward, and it appeared that he was asleep.

  “Damn the man,” Smith replied crossly. “The last thing we need is a politician running around loose! Tell the Big Dog that I would prefer that he remain where he is… Order Bone Three to put additional fire on those mines… What’s he waiting for? One to crawl up his leg?”

  The radioman spoke into his mike, and another machine gun opened up. It cut a swath through the army of oncoming explosives, but more continued to surface. That’s when someone shouted, “Look! They’re opening the door!” And a group of six Lopathian attack bots spidered out to join the fray. “I need mortars!” Smith yelled. “Hit those suckers before they can disperse! And put some rounds on those doors! Maybe we can jam one!”

  But the order came too late. The heavy metal doors closed without difficulty, and, by the time the 4.2-inch mortar shells started to fall, the machines had separated. Gouts of mud shot up into the air, one of the war bots exploded under a direct hit, but the rest opened fire. Bolts of bright blue energy stabbed the misty murk. A woman screamed as a hole the size of a saucer appeared at the center of her armored abdomen. There was barely enough time to take a look at it before she keeled over dead.

  “Fall back!” Smith ordered. “By the numbers!”

  The troopers obeyed, each platoon falling back through the ranks of the one stationed to the rear, until a good fifty yards separated them from the oncoming land mines. “Okay,” Smith shouted to his com specialist, “call the Ra ‘Na! Tell them I want artillery support! And it had better be accurate!”

  And it was accurate, since every single member of the assault team had been equipped with a beacon, and the Ra ‘Na knew exactly where each one of them was. Artificial lightning flashed as destruction rained down from the sky. Smith watched in satisfaction as an assault bot vanished, half-ton divots of rain-soaked mud flew high into the air, and entire sections of self-propelled mines were detonated.

  Finally, when the bombardment ended, a strange sort of silence settled over the area. Those mines not destroyed settled into the mud. The computer-controlled weapons emplacements went to standby. That’s when Smith realized that the advance team had mapped the boundary beyond which the citadel no longer felt a need to defend itself and were momentarily safe. He turned to the radioman. “Call the Big Dog… tell him I want to report.”

  The com specialist murmured something into his mike, looked surprised, and looked Smith in the eye. “Sorry, sir, but he’s unavailable.”

  “Unavailable? Where the hell is he?”

  The radioman spoke into his mike, shook his head in disbelief, and made eye contact with Smith. “It doesn’t make much sense sir, not given the situation, but Snake Three claims that the whole lot of them went swimming.”

  • • •

  It was Three Eye who led the group out and around the citadel, down to the river, then upstream along its banks. It was swollen now, fat with the runoff from the tropical storm and loaded with debris. High water made it difficult to walk. More than once the heavily loaded party was forced back into the jungle. Rain cascaded from leaf to leaf, dripped from branches, and made their lives that much more miserable. It was dark under the canopy of foliage, but the river sang to their right, and Three Eye never failed to bring them back.

  At one point, where trail and river met, they saw where two shuttles had been both run up on a sandbar. Unable to land on the artificial lake, and with nowhere else to go, the pilots chose the river. But there were currents to contend with, not to mention some tight turns, and both attempts failed. Were they still in there? Strapped into their seats? Or had some of the passengers managed to escape? There was no time to stop and investigate.

  The river roared as it passed over the last of three falls. None was particularly high, but Jones remembered how it felt to be swept downstream, not knowing what lay ahead, and feel the bottom drop out from under her body. Then came the momentary feeling of relief as she fell into the first pool, only to be dragged over the next ledge, and the next, prior to being swept downstream. The experience had been terrifying. So why go back? When she could have remained hidden? Because there was no choice. The Saurons had to be stopped, and this was the only way she knew to help.