“My orders stand. This is too much, it’s too dangerous. I want it all done away with.” The president returned his attention to George. “Get going.”

“Sir, I’m not field-trained.”

“The Deltas are moving. You’ve got catch-up to do.”

“Excuse me, but I have to say that this operation is likely to take massive casualties. It is likely to be defeated.”

“If you fail, then we’ll go to Plan B,” the president said. He made a choking sound. “That beautiful region, from Half Moon Bay to Sausalito—and that lovely treasure of a city—just a lovely place—”

“Yes, sir, it is that.”

“If we cannot eradicate the infestation by conventional means, we are going to lay that whole region waste. We have already tried to nuke the device they had in the air, but that effort was defeated. This time, the Deltas are going to land in Big Basin and fan out into all the points of infestation we can find, and mine them with nuclear weapons, which they will, if necessary, detonate by hand. They know this and every man jack of them stands ready to give his life. So when you go out there, Mr. Hammond, you remember just how much better they are than you, and how very damn responsible you are for what they must do.”

George had never seen an expression like the one now on the president’s face. King Lear’s rage, the sorrows of an angel, the terror of a dying child, all of that and more. And George had never felt so small, like a worm, a maggot, some vile, little, worthless parasite. But he drew himself up. He had a chance at vindication.

“Sir, please allow me to be responsible for detonating one of those bombs.”

“I wouldn’t allow you to be responsible for licking a dog’s ass! You get out there and tell these men everything you know about what they’re gonna be up against. If you die, fine. But don’t expect any Intelligence Medal.”

“Sir, I fully understand your loathing of me, and I concur completely.” George got to his feet. “I will do everything in my power to help.”

The president turned to the window.

“George,” the director said, “let’s get you moving.”

George could not have been happier than to leave the Oval Office, and may this visit be his last.

As he hurried down the corridor toward the side entrance, he wondered what to actually do. He’d already tried to reach Lyndon. Her satphone was down, and aside from one call to Travis AFB, she hadn’t been heard from in over twenty-four hours.

His Intel Net cell phone buzzed, which surprised him. Operations must have worked like hell to restore the system.

“Hammond.”

“Lyndon.”

He stumbled, recovered himself, choked out, “Where in hell are you, Gina?”

“Big Basin.”

“Are you all right?”

“What do you think?”