“But that’s what the Rain wants,” says Spencer. “You do that, and you’ll start war between the superpowers.”
Paynal shrugs. “So much the better.”
“So much the better when we smash you,” screams Linehan. “We’ll raze these fucking mountains and bulldoze what’s left into the fucking sea!”
“Brave words,” says Paynal. “But ours will be merely one blow among many.”
You lie,” says the Operative.
“You wish,” says Matthias. “They sold you out. But I’m offering you the same bargain.”
“Fuck you. Why did you down the Elevator?”
“We didn’t,” says Matthias. “The Rain did.”
“Don’t hand me that shit,” says the Operative. “You gave them the fucking keys. Why?”
“Since you’re so clever: you tell me.”
“In order to drive East-West relations off a cliff.”
“No,” says Matthias. “In order to drive them toward a cliff. Tonight they go over altogether. When we open up at point-blank range upon the L2 fleet.”
“You’re really crazy enough to do that.”
“We’re sane enough to stop at nothing, Carson. Our assault will serve as the necessary provocation that will allow all U.S. forces to evade the fail-safes that keep their weapons from firing without the Throne’s consent. And believe me, what I do to that fleet is going to be nothing compared to what that fleet and all its brethren are going to do to the Eurasian Coalition.”
“You sure about that?”
“Your Praetorian defeatism is well-noted. This president thinks our nation weak. He couldn’t be more wrong. We’ll crush the East completely. Our net-incursions will demolish their zone-integrity. Our speed-of-light weaponry will ensure our country’s cities are left untouched even as their defenses are laid waste. And while we’re obliterating the Coalition, we’ll run the show: we’ll topple the Throne in the first sixty seconds of the war.”
“It’s not like you’re going to make it even that long,” mutters the Operative. “Even if you do fool everybody into thinking that the Eurasians have gotten their tentacles into this place, you and everybody else in Nansen are going to get completely fucking flattened by our own side.”
“You’re boring me, Carson. We’ve dug through these hills. We’ve linked up our tunnels with the caves that honeycomb these mountains. We haven’t deployed a single laser within ten klicks of here. But we have put more than half of them within Eurasian lunar territory. We’ll get off scot-free.”
“Yeah? Or is that just because you’re carrying out the orders of the L2 fleet’s commanders?”
Matthias says nothing.
“You are, aren’t you? I mean, for fuck’s sake tell me it goes higher than you. You’re not the lever that moves the universe, Matthias. I can see it on your face. You’re a small man. You’re a weak man. You’re just carrying out your orders. But your whole gang’s been played like a fiddle by the Rain and now they’re about to shove that fiddle up your ass.”
“Spare me.”
“Spare yourself,” says the Operative, and now he’s almost pleading. “Christ, man, you’re being played for patsy. What else was in those tunnels? Have you explored them all? They’re probably down there even now. They’re using you. Autumn Rain is fucking using you. They want you to pull those fucking triggers.”
“If that’s the case,” says Matthias, “they’re about to get a lot more than they’ve bargained for.”
“I’d say everybody is,” replies the Operative.
C ue the Earth-Moon system on fifty different screens. Some of those screens depict the deployment of the massed weaponry of the superpowers. Some focus on what are expected to be the major battlefronts. Others show the Jaguar citadel in the Andes and the SpaceCom base at Nansen, as well as the strongest of the American and Eurasian fortresses.
“All too many ground zeroes,” says the woman whom Haskell knew as Lilith. “Our teams are even now penetrating the innermost enclaves of both sides. For the Eurasian Coalition: a bunker beneath the Siberian tundra and a second in western China. For the United States: the fortress beneath the Canadian Rockies where the Throne itself is ensconced as well as the bridge of the SpaceCom flagship Montana. Within the hour, whatever’s left of the superpowers will be ours.”
Haskell looks scornful. “And what if it’s not?”
“It will be,” says the man she knew as Hagen. “We can’t fail. Our plan proceeds in upon its objective from every direction. The war that’s about to break out will only speed our triumph. Once hostilities are under way, no one will dare question the orders emanating from the center. No one will know who’s in charge. Even if the decision-making nexi of the nations elude our hit teams, war will make what remains to be done that much easier.”
“Easier?” asks Haskell. “Easier? You’re talking about total fucking war. There’ll be nothing left to rule.”
“Not necessarily,” says Marlowe. “This is likely to be a contest of high-precision weaponry targeted against counter-force capabilities. Not cities. Victory will go to whoever can disrupt the other’s defensive grids. In fact—”
“You have got to be fucking shitting me.” Haskell steps in front of Marlowe. She grabs him by the arms. “You sound like you think we should be going along with them.”
“We should be going along with them,” he says. He pushes her arms down, takes her hands. “Claire: Sinclair lied to us. He tried to use us. You said it yourself: he’s a bastard.”
“Now rotting in the Throne’s own jail,” says Lilith. “He’s finished.”
“They’re all bastards,” says Marlowe. “All of them. Every last one. It’s time we turned the tables.”
Haskell pulls her hands away from Marlowe. Steps backward. “Jason,” she whispers. She turns to Lilith. “You bitch,” she says. “You’ve brainwashed him.”
“Jason,” says Lilith. “Do you feel brainwashed?”
“I feel like I’m finally free,” replies Marlowe.
“Well, you would!” cries Haskell.
“Don’t be stupid,” says Hagen. “We’ve left you both to make a free choice. Otherwise why the hell would you still be arguing?”
“Because what you propose is so fucked up, that’s why! I’m not the one who needs to explain why your attempt to fuck my head’s failed. I’m not the one who should be begging you not to start this fucking war. But I am: for the love of God, don’t fucking do it.”
“But we already have,” says Lilith. A countdown starts up on every screen. “These are the final moments of the peace. In less than two minutes, SpaceCom black-ops units on the lunar farside will hit their own fleet at L2. The Jaguars will obliterate everything within a hundred klicks of the Andes. And we ourselves will unleash thousands of Eurasian replica-missiles from the Pacific Ocean floor on the fleet that’s blockading HK. The United States will stagger. It will hit back on all fronts against the Coalition. Even if the Throne can stay its hand—its automated defenses won’t. A general strike on the East will be the only option. Before the Coalition reaches a similar conclusion.”
“You can’t stop the thing that everybody wants,” says Hagen. “Everyone thinks they’re going to gain from the start of all-out shooting. Like pieces tearing themselves from the chessboard: all they’re doing is paving the way for us.”