“Unfortunate collateral damage,” Gant said without sympathy. “There's an extensive shelter under this house. You've taken similar precautions, I understand.”

“The ship is shielded for radiation to protect us on the return trip. I've got a comfortable shelter under the lighthouse. I could live there in great comfort for a hundred years, although the period of danger should lessen after the initial bursts.”

“Will the other members of Lucifer be keeping you company on the island?”

“Only a select few. Anarchists are good at creating chaos, but they don't have a clue about what to do once they're done smashing windows. The others will have served their purpose by then and are on their own.”

“You're going to abandon Lucifer's Legion to a possibly painful death?” Gant said.

“You can invite them to your shelter,” Margrave said with a sardonic smile.

“I need room for my horses,” Gant said.

“Understandable. What are your plans for the period following the big flash?”

“There will be confusion on a massive scale. People will be unable to communicate or navigate. Power will be out temporarily. Once communications are reestablished at great expense, we will broadcast a message to the world's leaders demanding an international conference to dismantle the instruments of globalization. For starters, we will call for immediate steps to disband the World Bank and the WTO.”

“And if they don't do what we ask?”

“I don't think that will be a problem,” Gant said. “We will point out the fragility of the global infrastructure and suggest that even if they rebuild it will be a simple matter to destroy it again. We can play topsy-turvy with the magnetic poles for as long as they like.”

Margrave grinned. “How does it feel to be one of the gods on Mount Olympus?”

Gant took a sip of his drink. “Intoxicating. But even the gods have housecleaning matters they have to deal with. There's the matter of the woman, Karla Janos.”

“The last I heard, we had a team on its way to Siberia to take care of her.”

Gant rose from his chair and went over to the French doors. He gazed at the rolling lawns, lost in thought, then turned to Margrave.

“There's something going on and I'm not sure what it is. The assassination team never got any farther than Fairbanks, Alaska. They were all murdered in their hotel rooms.”

Margrave set his drink aside. “Murdered?”

“That's right. They were all shot in the head. The killings were done quite professionally. These were crack members of our security company. There was no effort to dispose of the bodies. The executions were bold, even reckless, which makes me think that whoever put the plan together did it in a hurry.”

“Who knew about the team?”

“You. Me. And the Russian Mafia, of course.”

“You think the Russians are responsible?”