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we’re as good as dead in the water. As it is, we have to wait over two hours between q-jumps. Without that ballast it’ll be a day or more.”
Haws burped after slamming back the latest round the bartender had brought to the table. “That’s kinda the idea, Tim. That’s what decommissioning means. No sense in keeping the engines in shape if your ship is a goddamn museum.”
Granger studied his empty glass, then shoved his chair away from the table and let the glass fall with a crash to the floor. Every head in the bar turned and a hush fell over the place.
“Over my dead body.”
Chapter Ten
Marseille, France, Earth
L’hotel Sur Mer, Presidential Suite
“Yuri, I want the bitch dead.”
United Earth League Vice President Eamon Isaacson kicked his loafers up on the chrome countertop of the bar in his presidential suite and puffed smoke from his cigar. Cuban. His last one. He made a mental note to tell his assistant to pick up a new case on the next campaign swing through the Caribbean.
“I thought the plan was to publicly discredit and humiliate her. Force her resignation. Clear the way for your presidency.” Yuri Volodin, the Russian Confederation ambassador to the United Earth League, held the glass of sherry up to his eyes, his sallow cheeks glinting with the sparkled light from the crystal chandelier above refracting through his drink.
“It’d be so much simpler if she was dead. Avery is popular. Her approval ratings are only going up with the implementation of the Eagleton Commission. The economy is booming. Consumer confidence is at an all-time high. Shit, even the Cubs won the world series last year. And somehow the bitch seems to get all the credit for everything.”
Volodin set his drink down on the bar and rested his hands on his lap. “Should I call President Malakhov? We can suspend the operation and prepare a hit squad instead. It would be a simple matter to frame the Caliphate.”
Isaacson waved him off. “No. We’re already too far down our path. We’ve been preparing this operation for years. Once the attack happens, and we’re caught with our ass hanging out of our pants, I’ll present the no-confidence motion. I’ve got two dozen senators who’ve told me they’ll second. Coming from her own party, that’ll be plenty devastating—between that, and a ravaged Europa Station, people will be calling for her head for letting our guard down.”
“Of course,” said the ambassador, picking his drink back up.
“And in a few weeks, you can call me President Isaacson.”
“I admit, it has a nice ring to it,” Volodin nodded. “And President Malakhov will be most pleased. He feels you’re someone he can work with.”
Isaacson snuffed out the end of the cigar. Best to save the rest of it for later. Could be weeks before he got another. “You’re sure they’re under your control? They won’t go berserk and attack everything in sight? Just a targeted incursion through the fringe sectors, a quick stab at the Jupiter lunar system, and then they’re gone?”
“I assure you, Vice President Isaacson, the Swarm have been under our control for the past decade. They are as benign now as small puppies. Ever since we discovered the meta-space link to their homeworld and learned how to simulate it, we can basically tell them to do whatever we want. And with the intelligence you provided us last week, I’m sure the plan will go down flawlessly.”
“Just don’t blow it. Those smart-steel modulating algorithm codes can be easily changed. They only get one shot at this before IDF resets the codes, and then the smart-steel armor will be impenetrable again.”
“I assure you, Eamon, by this time next week, you’ll be sitting at home in the White House, toasting my good health.”
Isaacson poured himself another drink, raised it to Volodin’s, and smiled. “Good. A toast to our new world. More secure and prosperous than ever.”
Chapter Eleven
Veracruz Sector, Leon
Heidi Hunter, Bad Boy Team