I stare out over the rows of people in the park, many of them resting on nothing more than grass. A lot of them are watching me. I’m still not comfortable with this, being the face of the Garde. I turn back to Walker.

“I could,” I say. “It would save some lives.”

Walker shakes her head and gives me a level look. “The badly injured are in the triage tent. We can stop by later if you want to do the whole Mother Teresa thing. But you and I both know there are better ways to be spending your time.”

I don’t reply, but I don’t press the issue any further. Walker grunts and walks along the pier, heading towards a collection of army tents set up in a nearby plaza. I take another quick look around the park. Crossing over the bridge, things looked pretty secure. Back here, though, it’s absolute madness. Injured people, soldiers, military officials—I don’t even know where to begin. I might be in over my head.

“So, you’re in charge here?” I ask Walker, attempting to get my bearings.

She snorts. “You’re kidding, right? There are five-star generals on the scene planning counteroperations. The CIA and the NSA are here, coordinating with people in Washington, trying to make sense of the intel that’s coming in from around the world. They had the president on video conference earlier this afternoon from whatever bunker the Secret Service spirited him off to. I’m just an FBI agent, very much not in charge.”

“Okay, if that’s the case, why did they bring me to you, Walker? Why are we talking?”

Walker stops and turns to me, her hands on her hips. “Because of our history, our relationship—”

“That’s what you’re calling it?”

“I’ve been named your liaison, John. Your point of contact. Anything you can tell us about the Mogadorians, their tactics, this invasion—that goes through me. Likewise for any requests you might have of the U.S. armed forces.”

I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. I wonder where the generals are set up. I scan the nearby tents, looking for one that appears more important than the others.

“No offense, Walker, but I don’t need you as a go-between.”

“Not up to you,” she replies, resuming her walk along the pier. “You have to understand that the people in charge, the president, his generals, what’s left of his cabinet—they weren’t MogPro people. When the Mogs made contact, we almost had a glorified coup on our hands with the MogPro scum advocating surrender. Luckily, with Sanderson out of the picture—”

“Hold up. What happened to him?” I ask. I lost track of the secretary of defense during the battle with Setrákus Ra.