Not that any soldier had ever expected to live through a battle. In the Great War, his grandfather had died along the river Bug when Hitler's troops had made their first crossing, and of course there was Kiev. . . .

Russians knew how to die.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two

Hoffman had taken only the most essential items; seven high-density memory blocks out of perhaps two thousand, a few personal effects and two pieces of jewelry given to her by her late husband, ten years before. She had left the Taos home with the doors open; should any vagabonds chance upon it, she would let them have a few days of pleasure.

There was nothing more she could do. She had asked for a few return favors. There was no doubt what was going to happen within the next four days; no one she had talked to had ever seen tensions so high.

Operating on the instinct which had served her so well in the past, Judith Hoffman was on her way to the Stone. She hoped she hadn't started out too late.

She drove the innocuous second car—a leased Buick—for hours across the desert and open countryside, through small towns and medium-sized towns, trying not to think or feel guilty. There was nothing more she could do.

She had been stripped of all authority by an angry and foolish Chief Executive. Three cabinet members had accused her of actually starting this entire mess.

"The hell with them," she whispered.

Beside the turnoff to Vandenberg Launch Center, in a small complex of civilian stores serving the base personnel, she saw a garden shop. Without hesitating, she pulled into the parking lot.

Inside the store, she found a skinny young male clerk in a leaf-green apron and a Robin Hood hat. She asked where the seed racks were. "Vegetable or flower?" he asked.

"Both."

"Aisle H, just across from hand tools, next to mulch."

"Thank you." She found the racks and took one package of everything she could see, two or three of some of the vegetables and fruits. When she was done, her basket was filled with about ten pounds of seed packages. The clerk looked at the pile in bewilderment.

Hoffman threw two hundred-dollar bills down on the counter. "Will that be enough?" she asked.

"I think so—"

"Keep what's left over," she said. "I'm in a hurry and I don't have time to count them all."

"Let me get the manager—"

"I don't have time," she repeated, and she took out another bill and laid it next to the two.

"I'm sure that will cover it," the clerk said quickly, swallowing.

"Thank you. Put them in a box for me?"

Hoffman picked up the box and returned to the car.

Lanier was asleep in his cubicle when the comline chimed. He reached over to press the button, but no message awaited, only silence.