CHAPTER 24

PART I

Marcellus Snow, Acting President of Panem, slowly closed the cover of the report that he had just finished reading, placed it carefully on the desk, and glanced up at the expectant face of the man sitting across from him.

"There's no doubt?" Snow asked.

Cassius Hammersmith shook his head. "None, Excellency. That is a verbatim transcript of an intercepted message between Minister of Security Quintus Blackstone and the Rebel Headquarters in District Thirteen."

Snow sighed heavily. "It's so hard to comprehend. Blackstone was in my father's service longer than any other minister – except for yourself, of course, Cassius."

"You've seen the evidence, Excellency," Hammersmith pointed out impatiently. "Blackstone was blatantly colluding with the Rebellion. He must be dealt with promptly."

"Yes, yes, I know," Snow muttered. "Very well." He pushed a button on his desk. A moment later, Spartacus Knight, Coriolanus Snow's Chief of Security, entered the room.

"Yes, sir?" Spartacus asked.

"Minister Quintus Blackstone has committed treason against Panem," Marcellus Snow said. "He is to be immediately arrested. See to it, Knight."

Spartacus hid his surprise well. "Right away, sir."

As soon as the door closed, Snow turned once again to Hammersmith. "Once Blackstone is in custody, have his deputy – what's his name?"

"Antonius, sir," Hammersmith supplied, careful to keep his voice impassive – for Cassius Hammersmith did not like General Antonius at all.

"Antonius, yes," Snow said. "Have Antonius report to me. He will assume Blackstone's duties as Minister of Security immediately, and his first order of business will be to carry out an immediate execution of that traitorous son-of-a-bitch, Blackstone!"

"Immediate, Excellency?" Hammersmith asked in alarm.

"You don't approve, Cassius?" Snow asked softly, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"I agree that Blackstone needs to be executed," Hammersmith continued hastily. "But a quick execution – Excellency, an example must be made. He is – was – after all, the Minister of Security. A bullet to the back of his head would be effective, but his position demands that he be executed publicly – in a much more, shall we say, inventive manner."

Snow looked thoughtful. "What do you have in mind?"

Hammersmith laughed unpleasantly. "Excellency, that's out of the realm of my expertise. Perhaps you should speak with Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane. I'm sure he has mutts that he was planning to use during the Seventy-Sixth Games that he would enjoy showing off."

Snow smiled. "I like that. And it certainly sends a message." He punched another button on his desk and waited for the voice of his father's personal secretary to acknowledge his summons. "Contact Seneca Crane," Snow ordered. "Have him report to me immediately."

"Yes, sir," the secretary replied.

Hammersmith nodded in approval. "Perfect, Excellency," he said, after Snow broke the connection. "That will send a message to the Rebels that we are not to be trifled with."

And, Hammersmith said to himself, it will allow me more time, and a perfect distraction, to secure reliable transport out of this doomed city, before it's sullied by a horde of Rebel conquerors.

PART II

I ran into Beetee at lunch. His presence in the mess hall was a bit of a surprise – he almost always took his meals either in his lab or his quarters; if he ate in the mess hall, it was nearly deserted, like now. Haymitch called it "District Thirteen's one concession to the mad genius." Dr. Aurelius said once that Haymitch was probably close to the mark regarding Beetee's mental stability. He was most definitely anti-social and, unlike the rest of the surviving Victors, never seemed to be plagued with the nightmares that affected the rest of us – which, according to Aurelius, was in and of itself an indication that his brain didn't work exactly like everyone else's.

None of that really mattered to me just then. I wanted to find out if Beetee had learned anything new about the fate of Sperantia Blackstone's father.

I set my lunch tray on the table opposite from where Beetee was sitting. "Mind if I join you?"

Beetee glanced up from the PADD that he had been studying intently. "Oh. Peeta." He waved one hand at the empty chair absently. "Please sit."

"Thanks." I slid into my chair and inhaled the aroma of my lunch. The food had improved since Districts Nine, Ten, and Eleven had been liberated. I sliced off a piece of ham, dipped it into a dab of yellow sauce that the cooks called "mustard," and chewed it thoughtfully, finally deciding that Capitol mustard was far superior. While I ate, I watched Beetee pick at his food as he returned his attention to his PADD.

After I finished my meal, I decided to ask Beetee directly instead of attempting meaningless conversation with him first. "Have you been able to re-establish contact with Minister Blackstone?"

Beetee shook his head and raised his head to gaze at me through his thick glasses. "No. We've varied time of day and duration of transmission. Nothing."

"Where does that leave us?" I asked. Spring was around the corner, and I knew, from conversations that I've overheard between Boggs and the rest of the military planning staff, that some of the districts were straining at the leash to invade the Capitol.

"President Boggs has asked me to research, based on past Hunger Games, what sorts of booby-traps we could expect to encounter in the Capitol, should an invasion prove necessary," Beetee replied flatly.

I felt a chill run down my spine. The Capitol had a population of more than one million, and Snow only knows how many Peacekeepers. Casualties would be enormous. And Boggs wanted to capture the governing infrastructure intact, so there would be little, if any, bombing or use of heavy artillery. It would be up to Rebel infantry to clear the Capitol block by block, street by street, and finally house by house. Boggs knew that the cost in lives would be too large to bear – unfortunately, hardliners such as General Beck in District Ten and Commander Pullman in District Six were itching to take the fight into the heart of the Capitol itself.

"What about the blockade?" I asked.

"Only partially effective," Beetee explained. "The Capitol still has a lot of supporters in both Districts One and Two, so it's been impossible to completely choke off the flow of supplies. And remember, Peeta – President Boggs doesn't want to starve the Capitolites into submission. There's already been reports of a rise in the mortality rate in the Capitol due to malnutrition and disease. Boggs doesn't want the Rebellion to succeed, only to generate a million insurgents thirsting for revenge."

"So, the Rebellion invades?" I felt that chill down my spine spread.

"Invading the Capitol is a last resort," Beetee replied. He paused, removed his glasses, and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Boggs knows that the cost would be too high. There is, however, an alternative."

"What's the alternative?" I asked.

Beetee, as if remembering that he was in public, leaned forward conspiratorially. "We cut off their head," he said, his voice practically a whisper. "Send in hit teams disguised as Capitolites to eliminate key members of the government – President Snow, if he's still alive, or his successor if he's not; members of the ministry, and senior officers in the Peacekeeper Corps. They would all have to be volunteers, of course, as the chances of any member of these teams surviving and exfiltrating the Capitol are remote in the extreme."

As Beetee spoke, my mind turned to Katniss. For the last three days, she had left early in the morning, always with her customized combat bow and a full quiver of arrows and returned late at night – filthy and exhausted. She had explained her disheveled appearance on hunting trips that she could now make Topside, now that the weather was beginning to warm. What struck me as odd was that she had returned from each trip empty-handed – after hunting all day in a forest that hadn't known human hunters in almost a century.

I suddenly had a sneaking suspicion that Katniss was spending her days Topside honing a different set of skills. She was practicing hunting humans. It was the perfect role for her.

"Excuse me," I muttered to Beetee as I lurched to my feet. I scooped up my tray and, without a backward glance at a perplexed Beetee, hurried out of the mess hall.

Katniss wouldn't return for hours – but I needed that time to compose myself, so I could ask reasoned, intelligent questions, instead of blurting out what was really on my mind.

No, it wouldn't do to ask Katniss why she decided to volunteer for a suicide mission.

I should have found something to keep me occupied, such as working on my next propo, but I couldn't focus. I was a single large, exposed raw nerve by the time Katniss returned to the quarters that she shared with me.

I was seated at my small table, my District Thirteen-issued PADD sitting on the table in front of me, when Katniss slid the door open, entered our quarters, and slid the door shut with a clang!

Despite the racket that she made, and my own internal anxiety, I managed to keep my voice under control.

"Hey," I said casually as she hung her bow and quiver of arrows in the small wardrobe that we shared. "Empty-handed again?" I added.

Katniss shrugged and turned away from me before she replied. That was a sure-fire way to find out if she was lying – if she couldn't even look at me as she spoke. "Not so much as a single rabbit or squirrel," she said as she started to wiggle out of her gray coverall.

"Not all that surprising," I said. "You're probably after bigger game, right?"

I watched her back stiffen almost imperceptibly. "I haven't seen any deer, either."

"I suppose it must be difficult," I continued, "to hunt effectively when you have a squad of soldiers stomping around and scaring all the game away."

Katniss busied herself in the wardrobe, carefully selecting undergarments and a clean coverall. "I don't know what you mean," she said flatly.

"Katniss," I said softly. "Turn around. Turn around and face me."

Katniss slowly turned, still clutching her clean clothes in both hands. She was dirty, her t-shirt and shorts that she wore under her coverall dark with sweat, even though the air Topside was still cool. Her hair, now freed from its signature braid, tumbled about her shoulders in unkempt waves. Her face was set in a defiant mask, her eyes narrowed in a determined glare, and I marveled at just how beautiful she was. She was no longer the scared, yet courageous, teenager that volunteered to take her sister's place in the Hunger Games, nor was she the mentally scarred Victor that had been forced to endure the worst possible abuses at the hands of President Snow and the Capitol. She wasn't even the Mockingjay – the symbol of the Rebellion. She was something different. This wasn't a girl that stood before me – it was a woman. A mature woman, who had made a decision that would affect everyone that knew her and loved her.

She wasn't quite nineteen years old.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said stubbornly, but in her eyes, I could see that determined stubbornness waver just a bit.

I slowly rose from my chair. "Katniss," I said gently. "Don't do it. Not now. Not when we are so close to victory."

She lowered her eyes. "How did you find out?"

"Does it matter?" I asked.

"No, I suppose not," she said resignedly. "You know me better than anyone, Peeta. Better than anyone, except for Prim." She dropped her clothes and took a deep breath before continuing. "You, of all people, should understand."

"You know what your chances of surviving this kind of mission are, don't you?" I asked bluntly.

"It's a contingency, that's all," Katniss replied defensively. "There's no guarantee that we'll even be deployed."

"You'll die," I continued, just as bluntly as before. "You'll die, and Prim will –"

"You leave Prim out of this!" Katniss shouted angrily, as her fingers balled into fists.

"Leave her out?" I shouted back. "Someone has to think of her! Because, right now, it's sure as fuck not you!"

"That's not fair," she sobbed, tears of anger running down her dirty cheeks. "I'm doing this to save Prim!"

"Save her from what?" I asked. "The Capitol can't attack us. Their missiles aren't reliable. Prim is as safe here as any place in Panem!"

"Peeta, she's a medic!" Katniss shouted. "If we invade, she'll go in behind the infantry! And, with all those booby-traps, the odds sure as shit won't be in her favor!"

"This isn't the way," I said feebly. I had to admit that Katniss had a point. Combat Medics were only marginally safer than front-line infantry, and Prim would insist on being in the thick of the action.

"I have to do this, Peeta," Katniss went on, her voice taking on an almost pleading tone. "For Prim – and for you."

"You are going and getting yourself killed for me?" I snapped angrily.

"Peeta –"

I didn't hear what Katniss said next. I brushed by her and stormed out of our quarters. I didn't care what I had to do, or who I had to talk to, but somehow, I was going to stop her from going on this suicide mission.

PART III

Quintus Blackstone paced the length of his cell, turned, and paced back. The cell was just long enough for four paces each way, so a complete circuit was, maybe, six meters. 167 circuits equal one kilometer, Blackstone said to himself. 1000 circuits work out to just under six kilometers. If I don't lose count, with luck I'll finish it in maybe two hours. After that, I can go back to wondering why I'm still alive.

"Excellency, General Antonius has arrived."

Marcellus Snow tapped a button on the intercom. "Send him in."

General Antonius, Deputy Minister of Security for Panem, strode into the office and stopped precisely two meters in front of Acting President Marcellus Snow's desk. Saluting smartly, he barked, "Excellency, Peacekeeper General Antonius reports as ordered."

Snow waved his right hand casually near his forehead. "Sit," he commanded.

Antonius lowered himself into a straight-backed chair and glanced curiously at the two men seated side-by-side against the far wall. "I await your command, Excellency," he said, breaking an uncomfortable silence.

"'My command,'" Snow repeated. "Yes, of course." He gestured to the two men. "I believe you know Minister Hammersmith, but have you made the acquaintance of Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane?"

"I do know the Minister, Excellency," Antonius replied with a nod, as he kept his face carefully impassive. What the hell are these two doing here? "However, I have never met the Head Gamemaker before today."

"General," Seneca Crane said with the barest hint of a smile, "your reputation precedes you."

"My 'reputation?'" Antonius asked, a hint of iron creeping into his voice. "I have several 'reputations.' Which one are you referring to?"

"Unquestioned loyalty to the Republic," Crane replied as the hint of a smile flitted across his lips.

"General Antonius has several admirable qualities," Cassius Hammersmith added. "The Corps of Peacekeepers respects him. He's shown time and again that he's not squeamish about keeping order. And, he's a more than capable field commander."

"Your loyalty is what I am most interested in at the moment, General," Snow said. "You have, I trust, been appraised of Minister Blackstone's arrest?"

Antonius inclined his head. "I have, Excellency."

Snow shook his head sadly. "A shock, really. First, Casca Bishop, my father's personal Chief of Security, turns traitor – and now, this nasty business with Quintus Blackstone, the Minister of Security for the entire Republic of Panem, found to be in collusion with the Rebellion. The corruption is spreading among those thought to be incorruptible. And it must stop. Here. Now."

"I agree, Excellency," Antonius replied, carefully keeping his face an impassive mask.

"And that's why I'm here," Seneca Crane announced. "We feel that Blackstone's execution need to not only be public and broadcast to all Panem, but it must make an impression at the same time." He pressed a button on a remote control that he had been clutching in one hand, and a holo-image appeared in the center of the room.

The scaly monstrosity was a thing snatched from nightmares. Its elongated snout was filled with rows of needle-sharp teeth. Corded muscle rippled under the beast's pebbled skin. Its forelegs and hind legs both ended with razor-sharp claws. A long tail whipped back and forth constantly. As if aware it was being watched, the beast swiveled its head towards Antonius and let out a blood-chilling hiss.

"I developed this one for the Seventy-Sixth Games," Crane said with a chuckle. "It's based on fossils of a long-dead creature discovered some time ago in District Seven. Quite formidable, wouldn't you say?"

"Indeed," Antonius muttered. Inwardly, he congratulated himself on not flinching when the image of the beast hissed at him.

"A fitting means of execution for our traitorous Minister, wouldn't you say?" Hammersmith said with a chuckle.

"Very memorable, to be sure, Minister," Antonius replied carefully.

"And that's why you are here today, General," Snow said. "As Blackstone's deputy, his duties now fall upon you. When you leave this office, you will no longer be addressed as 'General,' but as 'Minister' Antonius. Congratulations, Minister."

Antonius lowered his gaze to the floor. "I am honored, Excellency."

"And that brings me to assigning your first official act as the new Minister of Security," Snow continued. "Tomorrow, you are to preside over Quintus Blackstone's execution."

Antonius could scarcely believe his good fortune. I'm afraid that your latest monstrosity will have to wait a while longer, Crane, he said to himself. "I need only to know of the time and place, Excellency," Antonius said aloud.

"Crane will fill you in on the details," Snow replied. "By the way, Minister, are you married?"

Antonius was surprised by the question. "No, Excellency. I am, after all, a Peacekeeper. We are forbidden by law to marry."

Snow smiled unpleasantly. "You were a Peacekeeper, Minister. And I think you deserve to have the companionship of a good woman to aid you in navigating the somewhat complex halls of the Ministry. Vesta Blackstone is such a woman, Antonius. She will, after all, be a widow by this time tomorrow, and in need of a new husband."

"It's the perfect solution, Antonius," Hammersmith added with a chuckle. "This way, Vesta won't have to leave the Security Minister's mansion!"

Antonius carefully concealed the revulsion that he felt. Coriolanus Snow was – is – a tyrant with few redeeming qualities, he thought, but at least he had enough shreds of decency left in him to not whore out the wife of a dead Minister – even one that had been executed in disgrace. Slowly Antonius rose to his feet. "You honor me, Excellency," he said quietly. "And now, may I have your leave to return to my duties? I want to make tomorrow's execution a truly unforgettable spectacle."

"Of course, Antonius," Snow said with a wave of his hand. "You are dismissed."

Antonius saluted, did a crisp about face, and strode out of the office. Only after the door shut behind him did he allow himself the luxury of a small smile. I've been handed a golden opportunity, he said to himself. Now, if I can only exploit the loyalty of the Peacekeeper Corps to their oath, I can save Quintus Blackstone and end this war simultaneously.

PART IV

I found Boggs in Coin's old office, where, surprisingly enough, he agreed to see me - after I was stopped and denied access by his aide, and only after I raised a complete stink about seeing him.

"Soldier Mellark," he said, his voice faintly mocking even through his obvious exhaustion. "You look like a man on a mission."

"I am," I said tightly. "I have a request."

Boggs gestured impatiently. "Let's have it."

"Don't send Katniss into the Capitol, should it become necessary," I said.

"Denied," Boggs said flatly, turning his attention back to the stack of paperwork on his desk.

"That's it?" I asked incredulously. "'Denied?'"

"That's it," Boggs muttered. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have –"

"No, that's not it!" I practically shouted.

Boggs sighed, tossed his pen onto his desk, and looked up at me irritably. "Peeta, I like you," he said conversationally. "And it's for that very reason that I'm not ordering you clapped in restraints and hauled off to Level Thirty-Nine."

"But –"

"Shut up," Boggs ordered. He never raised his voice, but there was an unmistakable I will be obeyed tone that I couldn't ignore. "Now, I want to know who broke security and told you."

I stood defiantly silent in front of Boggs' desk. "Never mind," he said with a sigh. "I'm sure you would have found out eventually anyway, and I really doubt that you're a Capitol spy." He pointed to a chair. "Have a seat."

I sat down. "What I'm about to tell you is classified." He pushed a button on his desk. His office door buzzed, and I heard the unmistakable clunk of a lock engaging. "Now then," Boggs continued, "we've learned that Marcellus Snow, President Snow's son, has been confirmed by an emergency session of the Ministry as the Acting President of Panem. We've also learned that Quintus Blackstone has been arrested and is awaiting execution for treason."

"That explains why his last message was cut off so abruptly," I murmured. "Does Sperantia know?"

Boggs shook his head. "Not yet."

"Don't you think she has a right to know?" I asked.

Boggs shook his head. "All we know right now is that Blackstone has been arrested and is awaiting execution. That's it. We don't know when the execution will be carried out. Hell, we don't even know if he's still alive as of right now. Telling Sperantia would just cause more problems. She would most likely insist on some sort of half-assed rescue mission – not that she's in any position to ask or demand anything. But dealing with a hysterical teenage girl is far down on my list of things I need to do."

He was right, of course. But that didn't make it any easier for me to accept.

"Now," Boggs continued, "regarding your reason for barging in here. We are examining several contingencies, should an invasion of the Capitol become necessary. One of these involves sending in hit teams to attempt to remove the leadership surgically. Katniss Everdeen is on one such team. She possesses skills that make her uniquely qualified for such a mission – and her bow is a silent killer."

"If you send her in, she'll die," I muttered.

Boggs nodded. "Probably." He leaned forward. "Peeta, she's aware of the risks. That's why, up until today, no one outside of the operational planning group knew of her involvement. Don't you think her sister, or her mother would try to stop her if they knew?"

"I want to go with her," I said suddenly. It was a crazy thought, I know. But at that point I wasn't exactly thinking rationally.

"Denied." Boggs shook his head sadly. "Peeta, you are in no shape physically to participate in a mission of this nature. Your presence would compromise the entire operation."

"What about Katniss?" I said stubbornly. "Her eyes –"

"Are, according to Dr. Fenster, one hundred percent healed," Boggs interrupted. "Nice try, but that argument won't work. You, on the other hand – Peeta, there's just no way. You aren't up to it physically, and probably never will be, considering how badly you were abused while in the custody of the Capitol." Boggs rubbed his face tiredly. "Look. Sending these teams in is an absolute last resort, but it is an option that we must have available to us. We lack the infrastructure necessary to run Panem without the Capitol. We need to end this war with the Capitol intact, and do it quickly, before this Marcellus Snow decides that he wants to one-up his father and use nukes on every Rebel district in Panem."

I said nothing. I just had a sinking feeling that Katniss, no matter what I said or did, was going to infiltrate the Capitol, assassinate as many leaders as possible…

And die.

PART V

For his first official act as the newly-appointed Minister of Security of Panem, Antonius ordered the Peacekeeper Commander that oversaw the prison complex to immediately report to him.

Truthfully, Antonius couldn't help but feel sorry for the man. President Coriolanus Snow had ordered a full-scale purge at the prison following the escape/rescue of Peeta Mellark and the other Victor prisoners. Antonius had it on good authority that the former commander's execution had been both cruel and unusual, and no Peacekeeper in their right mind would actively seek to assume command under such circumstances. Antonius knew the Commander slightly – a Peacekeeper that had become too old for a field command; he had developed a reputation as a competent administrator, and one that was fiercely loyal to his Peacekeeper's Oath.

Antonius smiled to himself grimly. He was counting on that blind loyalty and the literal interpretation of that very Oath for his plan to succeed.

"Thank you for coming so quickly, Commander," Antonius said, returning the Peacekeeper's formal salute with a casual wave of his hand. "Please, sit."

"Thank you, Gen…I mean, Minister," the Commander – Servius, Antonius recalled - said as he lowered himself to sit stiffly in the high-backed chair.

"'General' will do, Commander Servius," Antonius said. "I have not yet resigned my Peacekeeper commission." Antonius paused and pushed a single sheet of paper across the desk. "Now, do you have any idea why I summoned you here today?"

Commander Servius glanced at the paper but made no move to pick it up. "I would assume that you wish to discuss the scheduled execution, sir," he replied warily.

"In part." Antonius pointed at the paper. "I'm sure you will recognize the text on that document."

Servius took the hint and picked up the paper. As he read, his brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't understand, sir," he said when he finished reading. "This is the standard Peacekeeper Oath."

"Exactly." Antonius retrieved the document. "Every action that we take as Peacekeepers is in support of this Oath." He gazed pointedly at Commander Servius. "Including executing members of the Ministry."

"Yes, sir," Servius replied carefully. Antonius searched the man's face for any sign of understanding, found none, and sighed heavily.

"Commander," Antonius said patiently, "who signed Minister Blackstone's death warrant?"

"President Snow, General," Servius said.

"Coriolanus Snow, Servius?" Antonius asked pointedly.

"No, sir, of course not," Servius replied. "It was his son. Acting President Marcellus Snow."

"And to whom did you swear your Peacekeeper's Oath, Servius?" Antonius asked. This is it, he thought. If Servius accepts Marcellus Snow's authority, then Blackstone dies tomorrow. If not –

"I swore loyalty to President Coriolanus Snow, General," Servius said, as a light of understanding appeared in his eyes. "As did you."

"Yes, I did," Antonius agreed, inwardly breathing a huge sigh of relief. "By law, before Marcellus Snow could command the Corps of Peacekeepers, each and every Peacekeeper in Panem would have to swear a new oath, pledging their loyalty to Marcellus, rather than Coriolanus, Snow."

"Marcellus Snow assumed the office of Acting President under the authority of an emergency session of the Ministry," Servius pointed out. "His authority in Panem is unquestioned."

"When Coriolanus Snow assumed the presidency, he required all Peacekeepers to swear a new Oath, pledging loyalty and allegiance to him and him alone," Antonius countered. "Not one Peacekeeper refused. We all knew that a refusal would seal our death sentence. This new requirement was even written into law. Before Marcellus Snow can issue orders to Peacekeepers, all of us – from me, down to the rawest recruit – must first swear allegiance to the new President." Antonius paused and leaned forward. "And that has not happened."

"I have no reason to disobey Marcellus Snow's order, General," Servius said uneasily. "Minister Blackstone has committed treason by colluding with the Rebellion."

"What happens if you obey, and execute Blackstone tomorrow?" Antonius asked softly.

"I don't understand the question, General," Servius admitted after a moment.

"I'll tell you what happens," Antonius continued. "The war continues. And, in a matter of weeks, the Rebellion will launch a ground offensive against the Capitol itself. The entire city will become a gigantic killing field. Tell me, have you been receiving adequate supplies?"

Servius shook his head. "No, sir."

"What are you lacking, Commander?" Antonius asked.

"Everything, sir." Servius began ticking items off on his fingers. "Food, fuel, ammunition –"

"I'll be blunt, Commander," Antonius interrupted. "The Capitol will lose this war, one way or another. It's inevitable. And, if the Rebellion is forced to fight their way into the Capitol, and take heavy casualties in the process, how do you think Peacekeepers such as you and I will be treated?"

"Not very well," Servius replied quietly.

"That is a colossal understatement, Servius. We'll be executed," Antonius said bluntly. "Along with any surviving members of the Ministry. The Rebellion will be thirsting for revenge. And what of the average Capitol citizen? Do you think they will be treated kindly?"

"Probably not," Servius admitted miserably. "But," he continued, "how will stopping Minister Blackstone's execution change anything?"

"The Acting President and the Ministry cannot continue to fight a war if their soldiers refuse to fight," Antonius said. "We've sworn no oath to Marcellus Snow. Coriolanus Snow is incapacitated and unable to issue orders. And there is only one Minister that can issue orders to the Peacekeeper Corps in the absence of lawful orders from the President."

"The Minister of Security," Servius said softly.

"Exactly," Antonius said firmly.

"General," Servius murmured slowly, "I've been a loyal Peacekeeper since I was commissioned thirty years ago. I've never questioned my orders and have obeyed them to the best of my ability. But this war - General, if we surrender, will we be considered traitors, or patriots?"

"Ask me that question in fifty years," Antonius replied. "Only history will be able to judge."

"And the Rebellion?" Servius asked. "What of their leaders? How will they judge us?"

"I can't guarantee anything," Antonius admitted. "I can guarantee this, though – my life is worth ending the suffering and privation that we've endured here for these past months."

Servius said nothing for a long moment. Finally, his jaw set determinedly, he said, "What do I have to do, General?"

Antonius breathed a sigh of relief. "Do you have officers and rank-and-file Peacekeepers that you can trust?" he asked.

"I do, sir."

"Good." Antonius leaned forward. "I want you to return to the prison now. Speak with these Peacekeepers. Make sure they are as loyal to you as you think they are. Once you have your cadre, release Minister Blackstone from custody and bring him to me."

"General," Servius said cautiously, "what about opposition? I mean, what if our talk here was overheard?"

Antonius smiled, reached under his desk, and retrieved a small black box. "Courtesy of friends in District Three," he said as he placed the box on the desk. "This is a white-noise generator. I can assure you that our conversation remained private."

Relief flickered across the Commander's face. "What do I do if one or more of my 'loyal' Peacekeepers decides that their loyalty rests with Marcellus Snow instead of Panem?" he asked.

Antonius gave a single, brutal order. "Kill them. Immediately."

Servius nodded. "Yes, sir." He rose from his chair. "General, if there's nothing else –"

"You're dismissed, Commander," Antonius said. "Report to me once Blackstone is in your personal custody."

Servius saluted. "Yes, sir." Once Antonius returned the salute, Servius turned to go, hesitated, and turned back. "General, what would you have done if I had refused to follow you?"

Antonius smiled again, reached once more under the desk, and produced a pistol. "There's too much at stake here, Servius," he said softly, and then added, "I'm glad I didn't have to use this."

Servius allowed the corners of his mouth to twitch upwards slightly. "So am I, General."

PART VI

After just five minutes on a treadmill, I was forced to admit that Boggs was right about my not being physically capable of joining Katniss on the suicide mission that she was training for. Sweat was pouring out of me, my arms were trembling, and I doubt if I could have stood without assistance if it weren't for my prosthetic leg doing most of the work. I was in no shape to take on the most pampered Capitolite, much less a trained Peacekeeper.

I had a gut feeling that this would have been the outcome regardless of my mental resolve, but I had to prove it to myself. That confirmation didn't make it didn't hurt any less, though.

I heard the gym door close behind me as I climbed shakily off the treadmill. I didn't turn around, hoping that it was simply a District Thirteen soldier coming in for a quick workout. Of course, I didn't have that kind of luck.

"Hey, Handsome," Johanna Mason's familiar voice greeted me. I hadn't seen a whole lot of Jo recently, and I certainly didn't want her to see me like this.

"Hey, Jo," I managed to gasp out, hoping against hope to sound nonchalant. I stumbled slightly and grabbed onto the treadmill handrail for support. Shit.

"Are you all right?" Johanna asked as she rushed to my side and grabbed my free arm. "You look like death warmed over," she added as I fought to steady myself.

"I'm fine," I muttered, resisting the urge to pull my arm from her grip. "Just a little winded, is all."

"You sure?" Johanna asked uncertainly.

"Yes!" I said sharply. "I mean," I added, forcing calm into my voice and flashing her a quick smile, "I'm okay. Really, Jo. I just slipped a little, that's all."

"Uh huh," Johanna replied skeptically. "My ass you're okay. I can't remember ever seeing you in here before today. Not surprising, considering the shit you went through in the Capitol. So, what the hell is going on?"

"Nothing," I said unconvincingly. "Just a little workout."

Johanna let go of my arm, grabbed my shoulders, and spun me around to face her. "I know you too well, Handsome. Out with it."

She was right. She did know me too well. Still – "Just drop it, Jo." I paused and looked directly into her eyes. "Please."

"No." I felt her grip tighten on my shoulders. "This has something to do with Katniss, right?"

"Jo –"

"Never quite figured out what you see in her," Johanna continued. "She always struck me as a pretty cold-blooded bitch, if you ask me."

"I didn't ask!" I snapped. I struggled ineffectually against her grip. Shit, I'm as weak as a kitten! Either that, or… "Jo, why are you here?"

"What?" My question caught her off-guard. "Getting a little work-out in," she said, unconvincingly. "It's not easy being cooped up in this rabbit hole. You of all people should understand that!"

"Bullshit." I finally managed to shrug out of her grip but made no move to leave. "Okay, Jo. Truth time. I'll start." I took a deep breath. "Yes, I'm down here because of Katniss. Your turn."

Johanna nodded once, slightly, and the corners of her mouth turned up in a ghost of a smile. "Oddly enough, Handsome, so am I." Her voice was surprisingly gentle. "It's okay. I talked to Katniss."

I looked at her in confusion for a moment before what she had just said finally sunk in. "You're a part of it, too," I muttered. I didn't elaborate on what "it" was. I didn't have to.

Johanna nodded. "It was Plutarch's idea," she said. "He's been calling it the 'Star Squad'."

"Who's all in on it?" I asked, but in my heart, I already knew the answer.

"Katniss and me, of course," Johanna said. "Also, Jackson, Finnick –"

"Finnick!" I shook my head. "He just got married!"

"Let me finish," Johanna said irritably. "Leeg – Sergeant Leeg, the good one, not her snooty bitch sister – your Peacekeeper friend Darius Potter, Cashmere, Casca Bishop, July Barrow, and Rory Hawthorne. Oh, and Messalla, Castor, and Pollux will be along to record everything for posterity."

Johanna added the last sentence sarcastically. "What, no Enobaria?" I asked, my own voice dripping with sarcasm.

"She's like you," Johanna pointed out matter-of-factly. "Too fucked up to be of any use."

"How did Boggs pick who is going?" I asked.

"He didn't," Johanna replied. "Major Zander and Major Festuca did. But nobody is being forced. We all volunteered."

"July and Rory are okay to go, but not me?" I asked bitterly.

"Yeah, well, I gotta hand it to those Twelve kids," Johanna said with a dry chuckle. "They're tough. Almost as tough as a Seven kid."

"And you volunteered." I shook my head. "You must have a death wish."

"You wanted to go," Johanna pointed out.

I looked away. "That was different," I muttered.

"Sure, it was," Johanna replied wryly. "Listen, Handsome. We're a last resort. Chances are that we'll never leave Thirteen."

She doesn't know about Blackstone! I didn't dare say anything to her about my conversation with Boggs, though. I'm sure that I would quickly fall out of favor with him if I was to spill our conversation, and possibly even end up paying Level Thirty-Nine a visit. So, all I said was, "I wish I was as sure as you are, Jo."

With that, I hurried from the gym as fast as my shaky legs could carry me.

PART VII

Four Peacekeepers came for Quintus Blackstone while he slept.

Blackstone was awakened roughly, hauled unceremoniously to his feet, shackled, and blindfolded. The Peacekeepers worked in silence and ignored his protests and questions. As they worked, Blackstone realized with a sinking feeling that this group of Peacekeepers had performed this task before – so efficient were their movements.

Blackstone tried to count paces and turns as he was led through the prison, in a vain attempt to ascertain where he was being taken, but soon became confused and finally gave up. As if it makes a difference, he said to himself. Idly, he wondered what form of execution had been chosen for him. No matter, he thought. I won't give them the satisfaction. If I die, I die with my head held high.

Blackstone was surprised to feel cool air on his exposed hands and realized that he had been taken outside. "Halt," one of the Peacekeepers said gruffly. Blackstone stopped, and heard a vehicular door opening. "Step up," the gruff Peacekeeper ordered. Blackstone carefully raised one foot, felt a step, and carefully climbed that step and one other. He felt a hand grab his arm and turn him around.

"Sit," a different Peacekeeper – this one female – said. Blackstone sat on a hard metal bench, felt the vehicle sag as the remaining Peacekeepers climbed into the vehicle, and finally heard the door slam shut and felt a vibration as the vehicle started. One of the Peacekeepers banged on the wall twice, and the vehicle lurched into motion.

This time, Blackstone didn't try to determine where he was being taken. He sat quietly, bouncing up and down slightly with the motion of the vehicle. Blackstone was sure he was in some sort of truck, probably a prison transport. The drive was quick, no more than a few minutes, and soon Blackstone felt the vehicle slow, and then stop.

Blackstone heard the door open. "Stand up," the female Peacekeeper ordered. Blackstone stood slowly and allowed himself to be led out of the truck. He was now reasonably sure that, wherever he was being taken, it was not to his execution. Not yet, at any rate. His Peacekeeper escort led him out of the cool night air into another building – this one with an oddly familiar feel. Blackstone couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was a combination of sounds and smells that told him that he had been in this building before.

Blackstone was led into an elevator and felt it rise swiftly. He heard the elevator chime softly, followed by the sound of the doors sliding open quietly. His escort led him from the elevator, the only sound now their soft footsteps through a thick carpet, until they finally stopped, and Blackstone heard one of the Peacekeepers knock three times on a solid wooden door. There was a soft buzzing sound, followed by the sound of a lock disengaging, and a door swinging open.

The gruff Peacekeeper spoke again. "Minister Blackstone, Commander."

"Excellent," a new voice said. "Remove his shackles and hood." There was a slight pause, and the same voice announced, "The Minister just arrived, sir."

Blackstone blinked slightly as the hood was pulled from his head. He flexed his fingers experimentally as he gazed at his surroundings in amazement. He was very familiar with this room – for it was the outer office to what, until recently, had been his own inner sanctum, and he realized exactly where he had been brought.

Quintus Blackstone was standing in the outer office of the Minister of Security.

A Peacekeeper Commander stepped forward, his hand extended. "I apologize for the rough treatment, Minister," he said as Blackstone cautiously shook his hand. "We had to give the appearance that you were being transferred to an area to await execution."

Blackstone examined the Commander closely. He was older, with closely-cropped gray hair, and looked vaguely familiar. "Understandable, Commander," Blackstone replied carefully. "Perhaps you will be able to tell me exactly what is going on here."

At that moment, the door to the inner office opened, and Blackstone felt a rush of relief as he stared in amazement at the familiar face that smiled at him. "About time you got here," General Antonius chuckled. He held the door open and beckoned Blackstone in with his free hand. "Stop wasting time and come in, Minister. We have work to do."

Blackstone stepped into his old office. "Stand by, Servius," Antonius ordered the Peacekeeper Commander. "We'll need you before very long."

"Yes, General," Servius said, as Antonius closed the door.

"Now, Minister," Antonius said, as he pressed a glass of dark liquor into Blackstone's hand, "we need to get started. We don't have much time."

"Started?" Blackstone asked as he took a hefty swallow of his drink, feeling it burn all the way to his stomach. "Started on what?"

Antonius grinned wolfishly. "My friend, you and I are leading the first coup in the history of Panem. By this time tomorrow, we'll either be successful – or dead."