"With respect, sir, that's crazy. The Clan doesn't work that way; what might work with a criminal enterprise or a dictatorship is the wrong way to go about nudging a hereditary aristocracy. He's talking about assassinating someone's mother or brother. They'll see it as cause for a blood feud!"

"Hmm. That's another way of looking at things. Only it's already out of date. Mike, you swore an oath. Can I rely on you to keep this to yourself?"

Fleming nodded, uncertain. "I guess so." Part of him wanted to interrupt: But you're wrong! He'd spent two stinking days running a fever in a horse-drawn carriage with Miriam's mother and the Russian ice princess with the sniper's rifle, and every instinct screamed that the colonel's scenario setup was glaringly wrong-that to those folks, the political was personal, very personal indeed, and a phone bomb in the wrong ear wouldn't be treated as a message but as grounds for a bloody feud played out by the assassination of public figures-but at the same time, the colonel obviously had something else on his mind. And he had a sick, sinking feeling that trying to bring conflicting facts to the colonel's attention, much less Dr. James's, would lead to dismissal of his concerns at best. At worst-don't go there, he told himself.

"You didn't hear this from me, and you will not repeat it, but a few days ago we did an audit. The bad guys didn't stop at just one nuke. We're fairly certain our quiver is missing six arrows-that's how many are missing, including the one we recovered, and the MO was the same for each theft."

"Six-shit! What happened?"

"Too much." Smith paused for a few seconds, cutting in behind a tractor-trailer. "The doctor sent the one we found back to them: Another of his little messages. He has, it seems, got some special friends in Special Forces, and contacts all the way up to the National Command Authority. He's gotten the right help to build his own stovepiped parallel command and control chain for these gadgets, and he's gotten VPOTUS's ear, and VPOTUS got the president to sign off on it… Hopefully it killed a bunch of their troops. There's been a determination that we are at war; this isn't a counterterrorism op anymore, nor a smuggling interdiction. They've even gone to the Supremes to get a secret ruling that Posse Comitatus doesn't apply to parallel universes.

"To VPOTUS's way of thinking, these guys are as much a threat to us as Chemical Ali was-hell, even more of a threat. The closest thing to a weapon of mass destruction he had was Saddam's head on a stick, but he had to go, visibly and publicly, and these guys have to go, too. Even when it was just one nuke, if they'd given it back to us when we asked nicely, and sued for terms… it was going to be difficult. Anyway, there's no use crying over spilt milk. The five remaining bombs aren't enough to hurt us significantly-but they're more than enough justification for what's coming next. There's a lab out west that's been making progress on a gizmo for moving stuff between, uh, parallel universes. And you know what the price of gas is. If we can make it work, it'll be a lot easier to get at the oil under their version of Texas than to deal with the Saudis. That'll be what WARBUCKS is thinking, and it's going to be what he's telling James to expedite. When Wolfowitz gets through fixing up Iraq… do I need to draw you a diagram?"

At war. Mike shook his head. "So you're telling me this is just another oil war? Has anyone told Congress that they're supposed to have authorized this?"

"You know as well as I do that that's not how things happen in this administration. They're looking to our national security in the broadest terms, and when they've got their ducks lined up in a row, well: They've got a majority in Congress, they're even in the Senate, and the other side have given them the most pliable minority leader in decades. Lieberman's terrified of not looking tough on security issues, and lets WARBUCKS play him like a piano. That's why the president's style of leadership works: He decides, and then WARBUCKS gives him the leverage."

"Not, he decides whatever WARBUCKS wants him to?"

Smith gave him an old-fashioned look. "That's not for you or me to comment on, Mister Fleming. Either way, though, the narcoterrorism angle and the stolen nukes will make great headline copy if-when-it leaks out in public. We can call them Taliban 2.0, now with nukes: It'll play well in Peoria, and the paranoia aspect-bad guys who can click their heels and vanish into thin air-is going to keep everyone on their toes. Bottom line is, those guys picked the wrong administration to mess with." Smith glanced sidelong at Mike. "But I'm a lot less happy about Dr. James's habit of going outside the chain of command."

Mike nerved himself. "Aren't you a bit worried that the doctor may be completely misreading how these people will react? They're not narcoterrorists and they're not hicks, they've got their own way of doing things-"

"It doesn't matter how they respond," said the colonel. "They're roadkill, son. A decision has been made, at the highest level. We don't negotiate in good faith with nuclear terrorists: We lie to them and then we kill them. The oil is a side issue. If you've got a problem with that, tell me now; I'll find you a desk to fly where I can keep an eye on you and you don't have to do anything objectionable." The final word came out with an ironic drawl and a raised eyebrow.

For a bleak, clear moment Mike could see it all bearing down on him: a continent of lies and weasel-worded justifications, lies on both sides-Olga couldn't have been as ignorant as she'd professed, not if six of the things were missing-and onrushing bloody-handed strife. From the administration on down, policy set by the realpolitik dictates of securing the nation's borders and energy supplies… up against an adversary who had stolen nuclear weapons and dealt with enemies by tit-for-tat revenge slaying.

"I'm on board," he said, holding his misgivings close to his chest. "I just hope those missing nukes show up."

"So do I." The colonel grimaced. "And so do the people we've got looking for them."

BEGIN RECORDING: "My lord Gruen, his lordship Oliver, Earl Hjorth."

(Sound of door closing.)

"Ah, Oliver."

My lord Baron! If you would care to take a seat?… We are awaiting her grace, and Baron Schwartzwasser. I think then we may proceed…"

(Eighteen minutes pass. More people arrive.)

"… Let us begin." (Clears throat.) "I declare this session open. My lord Gruen, you requested this meeting, I believe to discuss the recent incident in the northwest?"

"Yes, yes I did! Thank you, my lord. I have reports-"

"-It's insupportable!"

"My lady? Do you have something you feel you must contribute, or can we hear Lord Gruen's report first?"

"It's insupportable!" (Vile muttered imprecations.) "Ignore me. I am just an old grandmother…"

"Hardly that, my lady. Lord Gruen?"

"I am inclined to agree with her grace, as it happens: Her description of it is succinct. Here are the facts of the matter. The Pervert's army split into three columns, which dispersed and harried our estates grievously. His grace Duke Lofstrom responded by dispersing small defensive forces among the noble households, but concentrating the main body of our Security corvée in the Anglische world as a flying column. He was most insistent that at some point the Pervert would bring his arms together to invest one of our great estates, in the hope of drawing us into a battle in which, outnumbered, we would fall.

"Despite our entreaties to defend our estates adequately and wipe out the attacking columns, he deliberately starved us of troops, claiming that he must needs give the Pervert a false, weak, picture of our strength of arms, and that in any case there were insufficient soldiers to defend all our households."