“No sir. This is the secure bunker . . .”

“And for us to be here, what state of government has to be declared?”

The senator’s nostrils flared as the President’s meaning became quite apparent, but he doggedly refused to give up the bone he was gnawing. “Sir, that is no reason to . . .”

“We are in a state of declared martial law,” Mitchell Connor said, “so I didn’t circumvent anything, I acted well within the limits of my powers. Mr. Bahnner, I don’t have time for political posturing at the moment, so unless you have something useful to add to the situation . . .?”

“Mr. President, when this is over . . .”

“If we’re not dead, and you think you can get away with a little political backstabbing”—Conner shrugged, smiling in a very nasty way—“then have at it, Hoss. Until then, get the hell out of my office.”

He nodded to the guards at the door and, even before the senator’s face had managed to stop gaping in unadulterated shock, they hustled the annoying man out. Conner took a deep breath and shook his head, actually feeling better than he had in hours. There was something freeing about telling the man off after so many years of having to smile to his face when he’d rather break his nose.

“Sam?”

“Sir?” The Secret Service man stepped forward.

“Find out what movement has been made on my order to DARPA and the other people involved with the t-cannon project.”

“Yes sir.”

Hopefully someone had actually been working while he had been stuck in the office dealing with the nonsense his position demanded.

FERRY POINT PARK, BRONX

THE TALL, SLIM man stopped shoulder to shoulder with the muscular redhead, the two of them looking over the scene before them before they began to walk into the park in step.

“Eric knows how to throw a party,” Alexander said with a faint air of amusement.

Janet chuckled throatily, looking around at the men and women in the gathering. Mostly the men, if she were to be asked by a particularly brave soul. “That he does, Boyo. I think this must be what coming home feels like.”

Alexander Stanislav rolled his eyes, but didn’t comment further. He and his walking companion had been friends almost as long as they’d both known their host for this particular party. They’d met during nasty street-to-street fighting in Tokyo before the Marines hammered the Block back with help from a certain man and his experimental fighter squadron.

Since then the two of them were almost always found in the same city, often the same clubs. They were known, among those few who kept track of such things, as a matched pair. They liked almost all the same things, despite how different they were in most respects, down to having the same taste in men.