EndWar

“Yep. I have no idea why he’s made such a big deal of this, but when it comes to politicians, you never know what they’re thinking.” Her tone grew cynical. “Maybe we’re symbols of the American spirit.”

“Don’t sell us too short. Maybe we are.”

“That works well for your ego, huh?”

“And yours, too.”

She proffered her hand. “Well, thank you. I mean it. I hope we can stay in touch.”

He took her hand, shook firmly. “I hope so, too. Do fighter pilots ever date Marines?”

She grinned, turned away, then glanced back over her shoulder and said, “Only the cute ones.”

Sergeant Nathan Vatz had been evaced back to Grand Prairie, and the nurses were applying the cast to his left leg when he got the call from Sergeant Marc Rakken’s vehicle commander, Sergeant Timothy Appleman.

Twenty minutes earlier Vatz had tried to call Rakken, who wasn’t answering his cell. Then Vatz had put a call in to Appleman, whose number he also kept in case of emergencies.

In a somber tone, the sergeant described how Rakken had saved the entire NEST team through his selfless act of courage.

And Vatz just lay there, listening to the sergeant call his name over and over — because he just couldn’t respond to the news for a few seconds. “Yeah, I’m here. Thanks, Tim. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Nate, I’m giving this to you for two reasons: first, if one of us is going to make it, it’s going to be you.”

Vatz reached into his pocket and withdrew Marc’s balisong. He clutched the knife in his fist and closed his eyes.

You knew it all along, didn’t you, Marc. And you knew it was worth it. You didn’t have any doubts. Not a one.

“We’ve still heard nothing from Moscow,” said General Laura Kennedy.

President Becerra leaned back in his chair aboard Air Force One and nodded. “I didn’t think we would.”

“They are, however, beginning to withdraw their forces from Alberta.”

“Good.”

“Yes, sir, but it’ll still take months to flush out all the special forces. And who knows how many spies could have infiltrated the area.”

“Understood. We’ll work with Emerson to address that issue and the reconstruction issues. I suspect he’ll be quite upset over the highway and the bridge.”

She winced. “Oh, yes, sir. I’ll update you again in one hour.”

“Thank you, General. Now I need to call a very skilled Marine Corps sergeant who got our pilot out.”

“He’ll appreciate that, sir.”

General Sergei Izotov massaged his bloodshot eyes as he sat in President Vsevolod Vsevolodovich Kapalkin’s office.

“It’s confirmed,” said the president, his cheeks growing fiery red as he turned away from his computer screen. “The Romanov has been destroyed.”

Izotov shook his head. “She had a deal with her brother, and that fool got himself killed.”

“She needs to join him in hell. I don’t care how many agents you employ. I want her found. And if they can’t capture her, they should kill her. Do you understand, General?”

“Completely. They’ll return the body to me. I want to look into her dead eyes and be sure.”

Kapalkin glanced back to his screen, began tapping away on his keyboard. “Now, there are other ways to gain control of those reserves. Has Vasiliev called you back?”

“Just two hours ago.”

Alexi Vasiliev, aka William Bullard, was a Russian mole and member of the Canadian Parliament.

“How much money and time will it take?”

“He’s not sure yet, but Prime Minister Emerson’s handling of our invasion has been very unpopular. I’m confident that Mr. Bullard will one day become the next prime minister of Canada. But as we discussed, this is the much slower, perhaps even more expensive route.”

Kapalkin nodded slowly. “Well, General, I’ll leave you to your interrogations.”

Izotov nodded and dragged himself from the chair. The conversation could have been handled via video phone, but Kapalkin wanted to punish Izotov for the Alberta debacle and force him down to the office.

Moreover, Kapalkin had ordered that every employee of the GRU be tested once more for loyalty — including Izotov himself. It was an act of sheer paranoia and an insult, but Izotov had his orders — and he had the Snow Maiden to thank for everything. His fingers itched to get around her throat.

At sixty-one, there weren’t many things left in this world that truly moved General Sergei Izotov.

War was one of them.

And revenge was another.

The early morning flight to Cuba was thankfully brief — because during the entire time Major Alice Dennison wrung her hands and couldn’t stop trembling.

Her pulse raced as she was escorted through security, and by the time she reached the interrogation room, she was sweating profusely and had to excuse herself to the bathroom.

She splashed cold water over her face, glanced up in the mirror. “Be strong.”