CHAPTER 22

PART I

We all stared at Henry Elliott's Capitol communicator like it was a snake about to strike.

A small red light on top of the unit would blink three times in rapid succession, pause for a few seconds, and then repeat. Blink-blink-blink. Blink-blink-blink. Blink-blink-blink. According to Beetee, this was the "incoming message" signal – and the reason why Boggs, Katniss, and I had been pulled so unceremoniously away from the party that was still in full swing just a few levels above us.

Katniss finally asked the obvious question. "How do you know that the flashing red light means that there's an incoming message?"

Beetee held out a small square of laminated paper. "Believe it or not," he replied with a slight smile, "it actually came with an instruction card."

This revelation shattered the tenseness that we were all feeling ever since Beetee's hurried arrival at the party, just a short while ago. We all chuckled at the simplicity of his revelation. Leave it to Beetee to find – and read – the instructions.

"Do those instructions also say how to talk on this thing?" Boggs asked.

Beetee nodded. "Quite simple. Put on the headset –" Beetee extended a pair of earbuds on a long, thin, wire "- and speak into the microphone." He held up the microphone – a small metal button on another length of wire. "The unit is voice-activated. No push-to-talk is required."

Boggs took a deep breath and extended his hand. "Give them to me," he ordered softly. "They're bound to discover that Henry is no longer spying for them. No time like the present to send them that message."

We watched silently as Boggs fitted the buds into his ears and then held the small microphone close to his mouth. "Unidentified station, this is – Colonel Boggs, Security Commander for District Thirteen. Please identify yourself. Over."

We all noticed that Boggs didn't identify himself as "President" Boggs, and we all understood why. No need to give Snow any information about his enemies – including the fact that President Coin was dead.

The rhythmic blinking continued. Boggs repeated his message. "Do you think that it's Snow on the other end?" I asked to no one in particular.

Boggs shook his head. "Unlikely," Beetee murmured. "Any instructions would most likely come from someone in the Ministry of Security, or –" Beetee paused as the blinking light on the communicator suddenly went dark. "That's it," he continued. "The sender broke the connection."

Boggs pulled the earbuds off and handed everything back to Beetee. "I'm not surprised. Whoever was calling was expecting Henry. I wonder," he continued thoughtfully, "just how long it will take for the news to reach President Snow that Henry has obviously been compromised?"

"I can attempt to reestablish the comm link, if you like," Beetee offered.

Boggs shook his head. "No. Let them stew on this for a while." He grinned wolfishly. "Whoever was trying to contact Henry is, as Haymitch would say, 'as bound up as a possum shittin' peach pits.'"

We all chuckled at Boggs' imitation of what we all thought of as Haymitch's "down-home" accent. When Haymitch was very tired or very agitated his District Twelve accent was pronounced. Come to think of it, he used it a lot when dealing with President Coin. Of course, Boggs' mention of Haymitch reminded us all of exactly where we had been just a short time before.

"We should be getting back," Boggs said. He turned to Beetee. "Why don't you join us? I doubt if you'll be getting another call tonight."

"If it's all the same to you," Beetee replied, "I would rather not. I've never been a fan of social functions." He grinned ruefully. "My Victory Tour was a social disaster. I was voted 'Dullest Victor' in a poll taken by none other than Caesar Flickerman. No, I'll stay here, if you don't mind."

"We'll bring you some cake later," Katniss promised as the rest of us headed for the door. "It's delicious. Peeta made it."

"Now that," Beetee said with a wide smile, "I will gladly accept."

PART II

Minister Quintus Blackstone was seated in the rear of his personal limousine, enroute from the Presidential Palace back to his office, when his phone began to ring insistently.

Blackstone muttered a curse under his breath and opened his eyes. He had really been looking forward to a quick ten-minute power nap on the ride back to the Security Ministry. He was, he figured, about six weeks behind on sleep. He squinted as he held up his phone and read the caller identification on the screen of his phone. "Comm center," he muttered, as he pushed the ACCEPT CALL button. "What the hell do they want?"

"Blackstone," he barked. There was no need to hold the phone to his ear. Blackstone had also activated the phone's "Speaker" function when he had accepted the call.

"Minister," the tinny voice said, haltingly. "this is the Comm Duty Officer. I – I don't know exactly how to say this, sir –"

"One and two syllable words seem to achieve the best results," Blackstone said sarcastically. "Get to the point."

"Sir, we just attempted contact with our operative in District Thirteen," the duty officer continued. "For the monthly status update. It's a routine call that we make to verify that communications are still up. But –"

"Captain, you are interrupting what appeared to be a promising power nap," Blackstone snapped. "I know what the monthly status update is. Do what you normally do. Summarize the report and I'll look at it tomorrow morning."

"Lieutenant, sir," the duty officer automatically corrected. "Minister, I'm trying to tell you that our District Thirteen operative didn't respond. Someone else did."

Blackstone sat bolt upright, now wide awake. "Stand by," he ordered. Quickly he raised the barrier between the back seat, where he sat, and the driver, and then activated a "white noise" generator, designed to defeat any listening devices that may have been placed in his car. Finally, not taking any chances, Blackstone deactivated the speaker function and raised the phone to his ear. "All right," he said softly. "Make your report."

The duty officer's report was brief and to the point. "What was that name again, Lieutenant?" Blackstone asked softly.

"Boggs, sir. Colonel Boggs." The duty officer paused before continuing. "He identified himself as the District Thirteen 'Security Commander.'"

So, Blackstone thought, the District Thirteen operative has been compromised. "Have you reported this to anyone else?"

"No, sir."

"Good." Blackstone thought quickly. I have a line of communication with District Thirteen. I just need to be very careful how I use it. "I'll take care of briefing the President personally. Now, I want a comm link in my office, so I directly monitor events as they happen in District Thirteen." When the duty officer didn't respond immediately, Blackstone added, "Do this and I'll personally see that you are a Captain by tomorrow evening."

"Yes, sir," the duty officer immediately replied, and then added, "Uhh, Minister, I only have one available comm tech that can do that job, and she's troubleshooting some glitch between the Security Ministry and Launch Control. The earliest that I can get her to your job will probably be sometime after midnight."

Blackstone cursed under his breath. Of course, there's a glitch, he said to himself. Antonius and I are responsible for its presence. Ever since President Snow had ordered another nuclear strike – this time on targets inside District Ten – both Minister Blackstone and Praetor Antonius had been stalling, inventing one plausible excuse after another to avoid launching another attack. Thus far, they had been successful – casting most of the blame on the scarcity of hardware and spare parts from District Three. What's done is done. It appears that Antonius and I were too effective.

"After midnight is fine, Lieutenant," Blackstone said. "Just see to it that it's operational by tomorrow morning. And, I don't think I need to remind you to keep your mouth shut about this development."

"No, sir, you don't," the duty officer replied sincerely.

"Excellent," Blackstone said. "Outstanding work, Lieutenant." Blackstone stabbed the "END CALL" button with his finger, sat back, and stared thoughtfully at his phone. First order of business, he said to himself, is to discover exactly who this "Colonel Boggs" is. The second order of business is to ascertain just how amenable Colonel Boggs would be to opening lines of communication with certain high-placed Ministers in President Coriolanus Snow's cabinet.

As it turned out, there was very little information available regarding the mysterious Colonel Boggs.

Blackstone leaned forward and examined the classified document that was displayed on his computer screen. Boggs, read the name. Possible first name Richard or Rickard. Duty Assignment: Senior Military/Security Officer for District 13. No photo available. Blackstone sighed and closed the digital file. We've had an operative in Thirteen for how many years and that was the best information that he could get to us? Well, at least I know that this "Colonel Boggs" exists.

The intercom on Blackstone's desk beeped insistently. Without taking his concentration away from his computer, he reached over and stabbed at the intercom with his finger. "Yes?"

"Minister, Praetor Antonius is here."

"Send him in."

Blackstone glanced up as Praetor Antonius strode into his office, wearing the full regalia of his position as the top-ranking Peacekeeper in Panem. "I must say, Antonius," Blackstone commented wryly, "you look absolutely magnificent."

Antonius dismissed the remark with a wave of his hand as he settled into a chair. "I read once," he said thoughtfully, "that in the days before the Catastrophes, there was a dictator in a far-off land that would execute disloyal generals by blowing them to bits with anti-aircraft guns. Messy, but quick." He paused for a moment. "Our fate will not be as swift, Minister. I've heard rumors that President Snow has Seneca Crane working around the clock developing the latest in killer mutts."

Quintus Blackstone was a consummate politician. Despite the chill that he felt at the Praetor's words, he kept his face impassive. "Is that why you're wearing formal Peacekeeper dress? To look good at your own execution?"

Antonius barked a quick, humorless laugh. "I was in Two, rallying the troops."

Blackstone leaned back in his chair. "Sent by personal command from President Snow, I assume?"

"I apologize, Minister." Antonius didn't sound the least bit contrite. "I didn't have the time to notify you before my departure, and we observed radio silence once airborne. It was pure chance that you messaged me right after I landed back here."

Blackstone gestured impatiently. "Reports from Two are spotty, at best. What's really going on there?"

"Lyme is dead," Antonius replied, his voice devoid of emotion. "I guess you would call that the good news. President Snow seemed pleased, at any rate."

"And the bad news?" Blackstone prompted.

"Brutus is dead also." Blackstone raised his eyebrows in surprise at this news. "He was apparently killed in the same battle that cost the Rebels the Victor Lyme." Antonius shook his head in disgust. "Brutus had no business leading an attack. He may have been a respected Victor, but he was no general. No knowledge of tactics, no discipline, and no real ability to command troops in combat."

"And the Nut?" Blackstone asked.

Antonius shrugged. "The Rebels are getting smart. They aren't attacking directly any longer. They're blockading the Nut – nothing comes out, nothing goes in. And it's damn effective."

"They're taking hundreds of Peacekeepers out of the fight," Blackstone mused, "without spilling any more blood."

"Thousands," Antonius corrected. "And, by the way, I was probably on the last flight out of Two. The Rebels have complete air supremacy in every air space in Panem." Antonius sat back in his chair. "I came here right from the flight line. Your message sounded urgent."

"We received a message from District Thirteen today," Blackstone replied without preamble.

Antonius shrugged. "I'm not surprised. Isn't our operative there supposed to check in periodically?"

"The voice contact was from someone named 'Colonel Boggs,'" Blackstone added bluntly.

At this, Antonius sat bolt upright. "So, the operative has been compromised?"

Blackstone nodded. "It would appear so. This Boggs – have you heard of him?"

Antonius nodded. "He heads security in Thirteen, and is also their senior military officer. From what I understand, he's a force to be reckoned with."

"He's also our foot in the door, Antonius," Blackstone replied softly "Possibly even to Alma Coin herself."

Antonius glanced around the room anxiously. "Relax," Blackstone assured him. "This room is clean."

"So, what's your next move?" Antonius asked softly.

"My comm people will have a terminal installed here in my office by tomorrow morning," Blackstone explained. "They think I want it to 'monitor events'. I'm going to use it to attempt contact with Thirteen."

"And if you should contact Thirteen?"

"I'll negotiate," Blackstone replied simply.

"Isn't that Hammersmith's job?" Antonius asked.

"Fuck Hammersmith," Blackstone said bluntly. "My daughter is in Thirteen! It's only a matter of time before Snow decides to drop a nuke there."

"Speaking of which," Antonius said slowly, "I have to launch by tomorrow. No more delays."

"And if you don't launch?"

Antonius dragged one finger slowly across his throat. "What the hell are you going to do?" Blackstone asked quietly.

"I am launching," Antonius replied deliberately, "one intermediate range missile. Its guidance system will develop a malfunction, and it will pitch itself into an uninhabited stretch of desert."

"And the president will still hold you personally responsible for the failure," Blackstone pointed out.

"Our technicians have been complaining about the state of readiness of the missile arsenal since we received the first order to hit District Eight," Antonius explained patiently. "It seems that electronics near fissionable materials tend to degrade over time, and, you must remember, these missiles are over seventy-five years old."

"And you think that President Snow will buy that excuse?"

"Yes," Antonius replied. "Especially since the Chief Guidance Technician – who, by the way, will program a set of harmless coordinates into the missile's guidance computer – will be available to attest to that very fact. He is, after all, from District Three originally. He didn't take a lot of convincing on my part to cooperate."

"I see." Antonius looked thoughtful. "When do you plan on attempting contact?"

"After the failed missile attack," Blackstone said.

"I think," Antonius said slowly, "that I may have to revise my first estimate of our life expectancy, Blackstone. With luck, we may both survive to see this war end."

PART III

If I closed my eyes, I could well imagine that I was being prepped for a Victory Tour interview.

Katniss's Prep Team fluttered around me, applying final touches of make-up. I could feel myself sweating under the hot lights of the studio. There was a continual soft murmur of voices as the technicians that operated the cameras, sound, and lights completed their final preparations. All that was missing was the presence of Cressida to gently guide me through the worst of the interview before I was to make my way to the formal presentation with the district mayor.

Plutarch Heavensbee's voice brought me back to reality. "Peeta? Any questions?"

I glanced over at Plutarch, who was hovering nervously nearby. "I'm good, Plutarch. Read the questions on the teleprompter, and let the answers dictate the direction of the conversation."

"Good." Plutarch turned towards Cinna. "What do you think?"

Cinna gave me a wink and a quick smile. "I think he looks great."

"Don't worry, kid," Haymitch added. "You look natural."

"Sixty seconds," someone shouted.

"All right," Plutarch snapped, his nervousness gone. "Let's clear the set." To me he added, "Remember, introductions, and then we send out the first guest."

"Got it," I replied as I squirmed around in my chair, trying to find the most comfortable position. The director was stationed near the largest camera, and I watched her as she held up both hands, fingers splayed, and folded each finger down as she counted backwards from ten. When she reached zero, she pointed her index finger at me and the red light on the camera suddenly blinked on.

I gazed directly into the camera, smiled, and said, "Hello. This is Peeta Mellark, broadcasting from District Thirteen, and this is Panem United – where only the truth matters."

"Thanks for agreeing to talk to us today," I said, as my first guest settled into the chair next to mine. "Please tell our audience your name."

"Sperantia Blackstone," Speri mumbled.

I leaned forward. "I'm sorry, could you speak up a bit?"

"Sperantia Blackstone!" Speri almost shouted. Her eyes shifted around nervously when she realized how loud she was. "Sorry," she added, quietly.

I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile. "No apologies necessary. Can you tell everyone where you're from originally?"

"I was born in the Capitol," Speri replied. "My father is Quintus Blackstone, Minister of Security for Panem."

"And how did you end up here in District Thirteen?"

Speri smiled very slightly. "It wasn't my idea. I was forced."

"I remember that," I said. "I was there that night. You weren't too happy about coming here, were you?"

Speri shook her head. "No. Not at first."

"How were you treated?"

"I was locked up," Speri explained, haltingly. "There's a prison here in District Thirteen. On Level Thirty-Nine. That's where I was locked up."

"And how about now?"

"I work in the hospital, and I'm not locked up any more."

I leaned forward. "What changed for you?"

Speri took a deep breath. "In the hospital – there's a lot of hurt people. People who've been shot, or bombed. People missing arms, missing legs. People hurt fighting the Capitol."

"And that made you change?"

Speri shook her head. "Not at first. I figured that they wanted to use me for propaganda, like they did with my best friend Andromeda."

"Tell me about Andromeda," I prompted.

"Andromeda Snow," Speri replied. "We've been best friends forever. When I found out that she was helping the Rebels, I tried to stop her, and ended up here instead."

"Andromeda has a very recognizable last name," I said.

Speri nodded. "Yes. Her grandfather is President Coriolanus Snow."

"That must have been a shock to you, finding out that she was a Rebel," I prompted.

"It was," Speri admitted.

"And how did it make you feel?"

Speri took a deep breath. "Angry. Angry and hurt."

"You felt betrayed by her." It was a statement, not a question.

Speri nodded. "Yes," she almost whispered. "I – I even tried to hate her. I thought she was a traitor."

"But you don't hate her now, do you?"

Speri shook her head. "No. No matter how much I wanted to, deep inside I couldn't."

"I would like to talk about you for a bit," I said. "Your father is the Minister of Security. After President Snow, he's considered to be the most powerful man in the Capitol. And, from everything that I've heard, you were a hardcore Loyalist – completely supportive of both President Snow and his government."

"I was," Speri admitted.

"How about now?" I asked gently.

"I want what's best for Panem," Speri replied.

"Panem?" I asked. "By that you mean the districts? Not the Capitol?"

She shook her head. "No. For everyone."

"You mentioned earlier that working in the hospital helped you change your feelings towards the Rebellion," I said. "Was there anything else?"

Speri nodded almost imperceptibly. "Yes."

"What was it?" I asked softly.

Speri clumsily wiped at her eyes with the balls of her hands. "A little girl. In District Eight. Her name was Calico."

"Tell us about her," I prompted. "For everyone viewing that may not know the story."

Speri squeezed her eyes shut for a moment at the memory of the little girl. "She was from District Eight. She came to the Refugee Center with her parents after the nuclear bomb was dropped there." A tear trickled down each cheek. "Calico and her parents were sick. They came to us for help. She was scared so I talked with her and tried to make her less frightened."

"Can you tell us what happened to her?" I asked.

Speri choked back a sob. "She's dead."

"I know this has been painful for you," I said gently. "She died during the assassination attempt on Katniss Everdeen. I was nearby when it happened. I have just one more question, if you're up to answering."

Speri nodded, even as she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue that I handed her. "Okay."

"How did Calico's death affect you?" I asked.

Speri straightened up and gazed directly into the main camera. "I grew up watching the Games every year. I watched kids die every year until only one was left. But to me it never felt real." She paused for a moment and dabbed at her eyes again. "But Calico…she never did anything to anyone. She wasn't a Tribute, selected at a Reaping. She was just a scared little girl."

"It's different when someone you care about dies in front of you, isn't it?" I asked quietly.

"Yes," Speri whispered. "And it made me understand something. All the Tributes were scared. Even the Careers, I think. And it made me realize what you and all the other Rebels were fighting for."

"And what's that?"

"You want a place to live where you don't have to be scared anymore," Speri stated, her voice firm. "A place to live, and grow up, where everyone is treated fairly." Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. "I'm just sorry that a little eight-year-old girl had to die to make me see that."

I glanced over at Plutarch, who was making a "wind it up" gesture. "Thank you for sharing that, Speri," I said, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. "That's all the questions that we have for you."

The red light on the camera winked out. Plutarch wasted no time in stepping forward. "Peeta. Sperantia. That was gold," he gushed. "Sperantia, when the people in the Capitol see you – well, what you said is as powerful as any field propo that we could have made!"

"I only care about two people in the Capitol," Speri replied stiffly. "My mother and father. Will they see it?"

Plutarch nodded. "I'm sure they will. Your father is very highly placed in Snow's government, after all."

"Good." She glanced at me, then back at Plutarch. "I'd like to go now."

"Of course, of course," Plutarch said with a smile.

Speri stood up and turned to go. "Wait," I said as I, too, rose to my feet.

Speri stopped and turned back to face me. "Thank you," I said once more. "I mean it. I know it was hard for you. But people need to know things like what you were talking about. They need to know the truth."

"Will it help?" Speri whispered.

I nodded. "I think it will, yes."

"Then I'm glad I did it," she said, before turning and striding off the soundstage.

"Do you need a break before we have you interview Andromeda?" Plutarch asked.

"Just a minute." I watched as Meda, waiting off-stage, hugged Speri tightly, and then led her to some chairs in the back of the room. "Get someone else, Plutarch."

Fulvia Cardew, who had remained in the background until now, spoke up. "The schedule calls for Andromeda Snow to be next, Peeta," she explained peevishly.

"I don't care," I said firmly as I continued to watch Meda comfort Speri. "Find someone else."

"Give me a few minutes," Plutarch said hastily. "I think I can get either Casca Bishop or possibly Dr. Picardo here." When Fulvia opened her mouth to object, Plutarch added, "Peeta's right about this, Fulvia. We'll do Andromeda on the next show."

I sat back in my chair and allowed the Prep Team to fuss over me while Plutarch made his calls. I found myself smiling. Plutarch, I said to myself, you have feelings after all. Don't worry, though – your secret is safe with me.

PART IV

I was glad that Plutarch had been able to convince Casca Bishop to step in and take Meda's place. After the raw emotion that had been churned up by Speri's interview, Casca's calm, measured way of speaking allowed all of us to figuratively catch our breath.

Not that Casca wasn't a great subject, of course. He had been a part of Coriolanus Snow's inner circle for years. His stories of the lengths that Snow had gone to remain in power were both amazing and chilling – so much so that Plutarch was talking about bringing him back at some later date for another interview.

I just hoped that all these interviews would actually do some good.

Once the interview with Casca was concluded, we were finished for the day. At least I was. Plutarch still had to edit the Speri/Casca interviews, and Beetee Latier needed to hack into the Capitol's communications network so that we could broadcast the finished product. That left me with something I was unaccustomed to getting here in District Thirteen – free time in the middle of the day.

I headed directly to Weapons Research and Development – what Haymitch called "Beetee's Big Lab" – and found exactly who I was looking for. Katniss was busy putting arrow after arrow into a target fifty meters from her shooting position. I watched her for a few minutes, marveling at her extraordinary ability for probably the thousandth time, before I stepped forward and joined her on the firing line.

"Lethal as always," I joked as I watched her put yet another arrow into what now resembled a pincushion.

"I'm rusty," Katniss muttered, as she nocked another arrow to her bow, drew it back, and released it in a single smooth motion. "Those shot groups are shit." She turned to face me. "So, how did the first 'Peeta Show' go?"

"It's called 'Panem United,'" I corrected automatically. "And it was – tough." I quickly recanted the highlights of my interview with Speri.

Katniss kept her face impassive as she listened. After I was done, all she said was, "I guess Plutarch will want me to be on soon."

I nodded. "Yes. People will want to see – and hear – you, Katniss."

Katniss dropped her gaze. "Baring my soul is something I'm not good at."

"It's what makes it real, though," I said earnestly. "You, talking about all those hard things – your volunteering for Prim, your Victory – and Gale. You need to talk about Gale."

"I think about Gale a lot nowadays," Katniss admitted. "There's a lot of Gale in Rory. I see it whenever Rory is with Prim."

"Katniss," I said carefully, "I know what you're thinking. Rory isn't Gale." Katniss knew what I meant – Gale had developed a reputation for taking willing girls to the slag heap. And, all the while, Gale was doing a damn good job at hiding his true feelings from Katniss.

"I know this," Katniss replied impatiently, "but –"

"But nothing." I grabbed Katniss's shoulders. "Rory loves Prim, and, from what I've seen, the feeling is mutual. I know you feel protective, Katniss – but Prim isn't the scared little girl you volunteered for. She's tough. In a lot of ways, as tough as you."

Katniss allowed herself a small smile. "Tougher."

Before I could say anything else, my commicuff buzzed. "Shit," I muttered. "So much for having a little unscheduled free time." I glanced at the small screen and read the text displayed there. "We're wanted in Command," I said with a frown. "Immediately."

Katniss immediately unstrung her bow. "What do you think is going on?"

I shrugged. "Who knows?" I nodded my head in the direction of her target. "Are you going to leave your arrows?"

Katniss replied with a shrug of her own. "Not like anyone's gonna steal them. Come on."

The second Katniss and I entered Command I knew that there was something terribly wrong.

I scanned the assembled group – Boggs, Zander, Jackson, Festuca, Haymitch, and Beetee – before I asked the obvious question. "What happened?"

"Shut the door," Boggs ordered brusquely. The soldier that had let us in nodded and slid the door shut behind Katniss and me. A red light appeared on the panel next to the door. It was securely locked.

Boggs wasted no time as soon as the door was secured. "The Capitol launched another missile. We think it was targeted for District Ten."

"You 'think' it was targeted for Ten?" Festuca asked. "Sir?" he added belatedly.

"Where did it come down, if not Ten?" Beetee asked.

"As near as General Beck was able to tell, the missile strayed off-course somewhere over Ten and impacted an uninhabited stretch of desert in the Wilds south of his position," Boggs replied. "It did not detonate," he added after a moment.

"Beck has his forces on high alert," Major Zander said. "He wants an immediate retaliatory bombing raid on the Capitol."

"Which he will not get," Boggs said firmly. He turned to Beetee. "Any guesses as to why the missile missed its target?"

"There could be a number of factors at play here," Beetee replied slowly. "A guidance computer malfunction seems plausible, given the age of the electronics. However, for the trigger mechanism to fail as well –"

"Wouldn't there be some sort of safety protocol?" Jackson asked. "Something to prevent the warhead from detonating if there was a malfunction elsewhere in the missile?"

Beetee nodded slowly. "Possibly. I know the warheads are not designed to detonate upon impact."

"I thought that's how they worked," I said.

"They are designed to detonate in the air," Beetee explained. "Hundreds – or thousands – of meters up, depending on the size of the warhead." His voice became grim. "The blast effect and the thermal pulse are maximized that way, to cause the greatest amount of destruction."

"How efficient," Katniss muttered sarcastically.

"How difficult would it be," Boggs asked, "to re-program the guidance software to make the missile stray off course?"

Beetee shrugged. "Fairly simple, if the programmer knew what he or she was doing."

"Do you think that's a likely scenario?" Jackson asked. "I mean, the technician would be taking a huge risk."

"We have to examine all the possibilities here," Boggs replied. He glanced at each of us in turn. "I don't have to remind any of you that you are to say nothing about this to anyone?"

"Well, our mouthpiece ain't here," Haymitch drawled. "Otherwise this would be an exclusive on tonight's hacked Capitol broadcast."

"Heavensbee's presence at this meeting was not necessary," Boggs said stiffly, "as it's more important that he finish editing the first installment of 'Panem United.' I have full confidence in his ability to not speak about classified information unless first cleared to do so by me."

The rebuke was obvious to everyone present, but Haymitch still managed to look unfazed. Boggs deftly changed the subject. "Perhaps now would be a good time to try to place a call to the Capitol," he said. He turned towards Beetee, who, I now noticed, had brought Henry Elliott's communications device with him.

"The device is ready," Beetee said. "Although, considering what happened the last time, you probably won't actually talk to anyone."

As it turned out, Beetee was wrong. Even as Boggs was reaching for the earbuds, the light signaling an incoming message began to flash rhythmically.

PART V

Security Minister Blackstone carefully locked the door to his office, activated his electronic countermeasures, and waited until his anti-listening device software told him that no one could listen to the conversation that he was about to have. Satisfied, he then activated the communicator on his desk.

Blackstone carefully fitted the earbuds to his ears and clipped the microphone to his shirt collar. He hesitated for only a second or two before he leaned forward and pressed the button marked "SEND MESSAGE ALARM." Only then did he sit back, relax – and wait.

Haymitch was the first to speak. "It would appear," he drawled softly, "that someone in the Capitol has the same idea as you do, Colonel."

"Probably just another low-level technician, expecting to speak to Elliott," Jackson added.

Boggs shook his head. "Not likely. The fact that I answered their last call sent a pretty good message that Henry Elliott would no longer be their 'inside man.'" As he spoke, he quickly fit the earbuds in his ears, and then picked up the microphone.

"Now," Boggs said as he raised the microphone, "let's see if someone answers this time." He placed the mic close to his mouth, took a deep breath, and spoke.

"Unidentified station, this is Colonel Boggs, District Thirteen Security Commander. Please respond."

Boggs' eyes widened in surprise when a man's voice replied. "This is Minister Blackstone. I wish to speak with Alma Coin."

Boggs cupped his hand over the mic. "Does this thing have a speaker?"

Beetee nodded. "I take it that you've received a response?" he asked, as he flipped a switch.

Boggs nodded, and then raised the mic to his lips once more. "Minister Blackstone, you won't be able to speak with President Coin." He paused for a moment. "I'm afraid she's dead."

"I see," Blackstone's voice crackled over the speaker. "Very well then. I'll speak to whomever is in charge there."

"You already are," Boggs said dryly. "I'm Acting President, as well as Security Commander."

"A coup?" Blackstone asked. "A Rebellion within a Rebellion, perhaps?"

"An assassination," Boggs replied curtly, bristling slightly at Blackstone's somewhat smug tone. "By her own nephew and personal assistant, Henry Elliott."

"Who?"

"Henry Elliott," Boggs repeated slowly. "Your spy here in Thirteen."

"So that's his name," Blackstone mused. "I only knew him as 'the operative.'"

"Well, your 'operative' is most likely dead now," Boggs snapped. "He was banished, along with the mutt handler that you sent to kill Katniss Everdeen."

"Banished, and not executed outright." Blackstone actually chuckled softly. "And this winter has been exceptionally brutal. Very creative, I must say."

"Minister," Boggs said patiently, "you called me, remember. I assume it wasn't to discuss the merits of banishment over execution."

"You're right," Blackstone replied. "We launched a missile at District Ten earlier today."

"We know," Boggs said tightly. "Fortunately, it missed."

"And failed to detonate," Blackstone added. "I've been told that the electronics in these old missiles are of questionable reliability."

"I guess we were lucky." Boggs caught something in Blackstone's tone, and decided to probe a little. "We probably won't be as lucky the next time."

"According to my technicians, this is a problem with our entire missile arsenal," Blackstone said carefully, and then added, "You are holding my daughter, Sperantia. I would like to speak to her."

"Your daughter is unharmed and is well-treated, Minister," Boggs said assuredly.

"She's probably with Meda right now," I said. "Where exactly, I don't know."

Boggs nodded. "Sperantia is unable to speak with you right now, Minister," he explained. "However, if all goes well, you will be able to see – and hear – her later this evening. She's the featured guest on an interview show that we patterned after Caesar Flickerman's broadcasts."

"You're using her for propaganda?" Blackstone asked, anger tingeing his voice.

"Not 'using,' Minister," Boggs corrected. "She was a more than willing participant – as you'll see for yourself."

"I would still like to speak to her," Blackstone persisted.

"I'll try to arrange for that in our next communication," Boggs said, and then added, "There will be a 'next communication,' I assume?"

"I hope so," Blackstone replied. "I have other matters that I need to discuss with you, President Boggs."

"Just 'Colonel' will do, Minister," Boggs said. "What 'other matters' do you wish to speak to me about?"

Blackstone's voice sounded surprised. "Why, terms, of course."

"Terms?" Boggs asked. "You sound as though you're asking for our surrender."

"On the contrary," Blackstone said slowly. "I wish to discuss what you and I can do, as Ministers of Security, to cease hostilities as soon as possible."

"So, when you mentioned terms –" Boggs began.

"I meant for the Capitol," Blackstone finished. "For our surrender. To your Rebellion."