"Won't there be guards?" Sharak asked.

Duke laughed. "Guards? h.e.l.l, no. Just send your men in, 103.

kill all the workers, and then we'll blow up the turbines with a few grenades. Should be duck soup."

Sharak didn't understand the reference to duck soup, but he got the general drift of what Duke was saying. He spoke rapidly in a low tone to his men, and they took off for the front door to the power plant at a dead run.

Bruce Watson, senior engineer on the night shift, had just stepped out of the door to have a cigarette, cursing the rules that made the building "Smoke Free."

"G.o.d d.a.m.n," he said as he bent his head to light his b.u.t.t. "Ain't smokers got the same rights as everybody else?" he grumbled to himself.

As he raised his head and blew a cloud of smoke from his nostrils, he saw a group of fifteen or twenty men running toward him across the parking lot, and they all seemed to be carrying rifles in their arms.

"s.h.i.t!" Watson said, throwing his b.u.t.t on the ground and running back inside the door. He stopped long enough to throw the dead bolt, and then he took off across the lobby toward the corridor leading to his office.

He heard the pounding on the door as he jerked open his office door. He bent over his desk, picked up the phone, and dialled 911.

A sleepy female voice answered, "Nine-one-one... What is your emergency?"

"There's a G.o.dd.a.m.ned bunch of terrorists attacking the power plant,"Watson screamed into the phone. "Get the G.o.dd.a.m.ned police out here fast!"

"How many men?" the female asked, her voice still bored.

"Fifteen or twenty, an' they're armed to the teeth!" Watson said hurriedly before slamming down the phone. He knew he didn't have long before the men would gain entrance to the plant.

He ran to his door, and was about to open it when he heard 104.

the sound of screams and gunfire echo throughout the building.

"Oh, s.h.i.t!" he cursed again. He was out of time.

He whirled around, rushed to the back of his office, and opened his closet door. He bent over and shoved some boxes around, rearranging them, and then he got down behind them and pulled an old overcoat off a hanger and laid it over himself after he closed the closet door. With any luck, he thought, they won't find me here.

Minutes later, he heard his office door being kicked open, and he held his breath. Light flooded the closet as the door was opened.

Watson could see a pair of Army boots standing in the doorway from under the edge of the overcoat, and he gave a silent prayer while he waited for the impact of a stream of bullets.

After what seemed an eternity, the boots turned and walked away, leaving the closet door open.

Watson took a shallow breath, but didn't move. He intended to stay right where he was until the police came, however long it took.

Sharak and Duke walked around the power plant, checking the bodies of the workers to make sure they were all dead.

Once they'd determined there were no witnesses left alive, Duke showed Sharak's men where to place their explosive charges so they'd do the most damage.

*We want to put the turbines out of business," he explained, "but not completely ruin them."

"Why not?" Sharak asked.

"Because once we take over running the country," Duke said, referring to the Freedom Fighters of America, "we don't want to have to spend all the country's resources on rebuilding what we've torn down."

"Oh," Sharak said, though personally he thought blowing 105.

105.

this terrible country of unbelievers back into the Stone Age was probably a good idea.Duke showed the men how to position the charges so only the big belts that ran the generators would be destroyed. Something easy enough to fix, but that would put the plant out of business for at least a few weeks. Weeks that would give the FFA and the Arabs time to do enough damage to the country to make Osterman give up her position as president, or so Duke thought.

Just as they set the timers for ten minutes, enough time for them to get free of the building, shots rang out from the doorway to the turbine room and three of Sharak's men fell, twisting under the impact of hot lead.

"Put your hands up and come out one at a time! This is the police!" a voice yelled from the doorway.

Sharak ducked behind a turbine, raised his AK-47, and let go with a stream of bullets, yelling in Arabic at his men to do the same.

As the police and the Arabs exchanged gunfire, Duke looked worriedly over his shoulder at the charges placed just a few feet away from them.

"Hey, Omar," he said, pulling on Sharak's shoulder. "Them charges are gonna go off any minute now. We got to get outta here or turn 'em off."

Sharak laughed, sweat pouring off his forehead and running down his face. "Look there, John Duke," he said, inclining his head toward the doorway, which was filled with policemen pointing guns into the turbine room. "There is no way out of here."

"Then, we have to give ourselves up," Duke said, sweat pouring off his face too.

"You don't understand, John," Sharak said, not unkindly. "We will be martyrs to the cause ... we will have everything we want when Allah takes us home."

"Martyrs?" Duke shouted, backing away from Sharak. "I ain't gonna be no G.o.dd.a.m.ned martyr!"

106.

He ran out from behind the turbine, his hands in the air, yelling, "Don't shoot! Don't shoot! I give up!"

Sharak shook his head sadly. Cowards, these Americans, so afraid to die.

He raised his AK-47, centered the sights between Duke's shoulder blades, and let go with a short burst, blowing the traitor forward onto his hands and knees.

Duke, still alive, tried to crawl forward, but collapsed after only six yards. He moaned, coughed, and spewed blood from between pale lips, and died on the cold concrete.

Sharak glanced at his wrist watch, saw the time was at hand, and stood up. He held his automatic rifle at waist level, screamed, "Allah be merciful!" and rushed the door, firing as he went.

The astonished policemen saw the Arabs all come out from behind cover and rush their position.

"Jesus!" the lieutenant in charge whispered as he pointed his M-16 andpulled the trigger.

Men were bowled over and cut down like flies as the police unloaded on the rushing Arabs. Two policemen were hit and went down in the melee.

Just as the last of the Arab attackers was. .h.i.t and knocked to the floor, six tremendous explosions occurred almost simultaneously, sending a giant fireball across the room and through the door, incinerating four more policemen and severely burning three others.

The force of the explosions caused the roof of the turbine room to cave in, covering the huge electric turbines with two tons of concrete and Sheetrock.

The lieutenant, blown over backward and flung across the room by the blast, got to his feet in time to look out of the window. There was nothing but darkness as far as the eye could see.

"G.o.d d.a.m.n!" he muttered. "They've killed the electricity all over the state."

After he saw to his men as best he could, he went to the nearest phone and dialed headquarters.

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107.

"This is Lieutenant Waler," he said tiredly into the phone. "Send some ambulances out to the power plant; we've got officers down."

"Hey, Lieutenant," the female communications officer said, "did you know all the lights in town are out?"

He gave a low laugh. "Yeah, I kinda figured they might be. After you get the ambulances on the way, get the chief on the horn for me."

"He's not going to like being waked up," she said.

"That's not all he's not gonna like," Waler said. He hung up the phone.

I sure hope the chief's still taking his ulcer medicine, he thought wryly.

108.

Claire Osterman called an emergency meeting of her cabinet in response to reports coming in from both the Northwest and Northeast of multiple attacks on cities, defense installations, and power plants and roads.

Her Defense Minister, Gerald Boykin, was sweating under her intense glare.

"All right, Gerry," Claire said in a low, ominous tone of voice as she stared at him over the rim of her coffee cup. "Tell me just what the h.e.l.l is going on and why we haven't been able to do anything about it."

"Uh, Madam President," he began, his voice croaking, "it appears we've been invaded in both the Northwest and Northeast borders by a substantial number of troops of Middle Eastern origin."

Claire sighed and drained the last of her coffee in one gulp. "I know that, Gerry," she said, exasperation in her voice. "We've known that forover twenty-four hours. My question is, what exactly are our Armed Forces doing about it?"

Boykin spread his hands, looking to his left and right at Wallace c.o.x, Minister of Finance, and Clifford Ainsworth, Minister of Propaganda, as if searching for help. Neither man appeared ready to step to his defense, so he continued.

"I've asked General Maxwell G.o.ddard to come here this 109.

109.

morning to give you a briefing, but so far, he hasn't shown up yet."

Claire shook her head. "You and the general are supposed to work in concert, Gerry. Why don't you fill me in while we wait for the esteemed general to arrive?"

Boykin sleeved sweat off his brow. "All I know is he sent some air-a.s.sault troops into both areas by helicopter late last night.. .

Rangers, I believe."

Just as he finished talking, the door opened and in walked General G.o.ddard, his tie loose and his shirt collar open, with sweat stains under his arms. He looked harried, as if he hadn't had much sleep in the last twenty-four hours.

"Good morning, Madam President," he said, and nodded at the other people in the room.

"Ah, the ever-late General G.o.ddard," Claire said with some sarcasm.

The general bristled at her tone. "I'm late to the meeting because I haven't left the radio for more than five minutes in the last twelve hours," he said crossly.

Claire held up a placating hand. "I know, General. Now, would you please give us some idea of just what is going on in my country?"

He took a seat and opened his briefcase on his lap. He withdrew a sheaf of papers and studied them as he spoke. "As you know, over twenty thousand foreign troops have invaded our country from Vancouver Island in the west and Nova Scotia in the east."

Claire nodded. "I'm aware of that, General, but that doesn't seem to be such a large amount that our Army couldn't handle them."

He pursed his lips and shook his head. "Under ordinary circ.u.mstances, we would be able to overrun them without any problem whatsoever," he said.

Claire's eyebrows raised. "So, we're talking about extraordinary circ.u.mstances, I presume?" she asked.

G.o.ddard nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Instead of marching to- 110.

gether in a straight line as most armies do, these invaders haveevidently divided up into hundreds or thousands of smaller bands and spread out across the country in an almost random manner. They are all skilled terrorists and are targeting centers of government and police stations as well as important Army National Guard facilities and power plants and road bridges."

"With what purpose in mind?" Claire asked. "They will cause some minor problems, but surely not anything we can't eventually overcome with the proper Army response."

G.o.ddard shook his head. "That might be the case were they acting alone, Claire, but they've managed to get substantial help from some local dissidents."

"What?" Claire asked, her face flushing red.

"Yes. It appears members of some splinter groups are aiding and abetting the invaders. The FFA seems to be playing an important part in helping the invaders with both their choice of targets and with routes that will make them almost impossible to interdict with conventional forces."

"The FFA?" Claire asked, turning her attention to Ainsworth.

The Minister of Propaganda frowned. "Yes, ma'am. They call themselves the Freedom Fighters of America, and they oppose just about everything we stand for."

"Go on," Claire said, leaning back in her chair and stee-pling her fingers under her chin.

"They are far-right-wing zealots who oppose any government interference in their lives. They think people should be left alone to fend for themselves without any aid from the government."

"They sound like the citizens of the SUSA," Claire observed, glancing around to see if the ministers agreed with her.

Ainsworth nodded slowly. "In many aspects, they do agree with the tenets under which Ben Raines formed the SUSA; only these people are even more adamantly against govern- 111.

111.

ment intervention in their lives. They refuse to pay taxes, they h.o.a.rd arms and weapons and explosives, and live in communes out in the boondocks where they've formed heavily defended areas."

Claire leaned forward and slammed her hand down on her desk. "And why haven't these traitors been rousted out and imprisoned before now?" she asked angrily.

G.o.ddard shrugged. "It's been a matter of priorities, Claire. As Cliff says, the areas where they live are isolated and heavily defended. It would take a major effort to take them out, and for the past few years, the military and the police have been more concerned with the wars we've been in and maintaining order in a populace that has grown increasingly rebellious as our standard of living has fallen.""What do you mean?" Claire asked, her face flaming red at the implied criticism of her policies.

"Well.. ." Gerald Boykin began, and then hesitated.

"Go on," Claire demanded, staring intently at him.