A Young Girl's Outer Heaven
22
Commissioned by kyo amamoto.
"I'm sorry, miss Tatiana. This is all I could spare," mister Borodin apologized as he hurried into her quarters and put down a tray containing some kind of soup and a pot of tea. There wasn't anything extra with it—not even any bread.
"It's fine, Mr. Borodin," she sent him a smile. "I don't need much food. Really! This much is good enough."
The man sighed. Hesitantly, he reached out and laid a hand on top of her head. "You're a good girl, Tatiana."
She smiled and, after a moment, mister Borodin gathered her old tray and plate and left. Locking the door behind him, she inspected the food and winced. "Well, at least it's not beets," she murmured, moving over to her trunk full of books. Quickly extracting a single loaf along with some dried apple chips, she tore a third of the bread off and put it back, after looking to see how much she had left. "Three days worth…"
That would run out three days before they made it to shore at full speed, at least from what Borodin had told her. The bombs had destroyed the ships carrying the fuel for their equipment and the majority of their food stores—that which wasn't stored in all of the other ships. According to mister Borodin, the state didn't like wasting resources keeping their ships stocked full of months worth of food, so they only left port with just barely more than they needed to do whatever it was they were supposed to do and get back to be restocked. Which meant that with the destruction of their supply ships, all of the extra food they had brought to feed the mages and regular troops was gone and they now had thousands of mouths to feed with barely enough food to feed the crew of each ship just long enough to make it to their destination.
Rationing was being strictly enforced and even the officers and important people like her 'papa' were being forced to tighten their belts. Tatiana was barely an afterthought, since she wasn't someone important. She wasn't a member of any of the crews or a soldier, but that man's pet as she had heard spoken in the hall outside the room once as men passed by. In fact, Tatiana was almost certain that Mr. Borodin was giving her one of his own daily two meals out of the kindness of his heart.
Tatiana was hungry, but she had planned ahead so she wasn't starving. As farmers, her family had been through a lean winter or two that she could remember, so she had the good sense to save what she could just in case and use what she had sparingly. She had even taken the peels from what little fruit they had, which had run out early in the journey, and asked mister Borodin to put them in the oven for her to dry them out. He hadn't asked what she wanted it for, but had gladly done so, so at least she had that.
Today's meal was bone broth, tiny little slivers of onions, and just enough chicken to taste. Tatiana ate it all and used her bread to wipe the bowl clean, getting every drop she could out of it. Once she finished off her apple chips and cup of tea, she went to the window and her latest drawing. Picking up the hand mirror she had, she looked over her shoulder at the bathroom mirror she had taken down and moved to the wall directly behind her, sticking it there with the magnets on the back of it. Looking at herself in the mirrors, she went back to drawing herself, drawing herself.
It was much later in the day when she heard a commotion down the hall and the sounds of yelling. Standing, she pressed her ear to the door and listened. When she couldn't make it out any better, she opened the door a crack and stuck her head out. She heard yelling in Russy down the hall and frowned.
"—telling you, comrade! I haven't been hoarding food!"
"We'll see about that, 'comrade.' Now, stand aside!"
"Absolutely not! I am a superior officer and you will not—oof!"
Tatiana winced at the sound of someone being struck repeatedly as one of the other men began yelling, "Rank has nothing to do with it! We're starving! This is about survival!"
"Found it!" someone called.
A moment later, the man who had been beaten began to squeal. "No! Let me go! I demand you let me go! Where are you taking me?!"
"Topside. Those who hoard food away from the rest of us go overboard!"
Tatiana went wide-eyed and quietly closed and locked the door. Looking around her room, she forced herself not to panic. They're going to search my room. If they find the bread, they'll throw me off the ship. That's, that's not fair! I saved it because I was thinking of the future! You can't just—!
Taking a breath, she moved over to her trunk and opened it, then quickly removed the bread and apple chips and put everything in the trunk back as it should be. Looking around for somewhere to hide it, she spotted her pillow. Jerking the case off, she tossed her food inside and opened the cabin's window. Shoving her pillow case outside, she closed the window with just a corner of the case sticking out inside—just enough for her to grab and pull it back in.
They'll see it! She realized as she stood back and looked at it. Taking another look around, she spied the bathroom mirror. Hurrying over, she grabbed it off the wall and moved it to beside the window. She had just gotten it into place when someone banged at her door.
"Open up!"
"Eep!" Tatiana yelped. Moving away from the window, she checked her handiwork, then made her way to the door. "I, I'm sorry! I was told by papa Loria that I'm not supposed to open the door for anyone but him, mister Borodin, or the captain."
"Open this damned door right now or when we do get it open, you'll be sorry!" someone threatened from the other side.
Wincing, Tatiana opened the door and yelped again as she was grabbed and jerked out into the hallway. "Move it, you little leech! What are you hiding in here, huh?! What has comrade Loria been giving you?"
"W-what? Nothing!" Tatiana answered, then whimpered as the person grabbing her arm slapped her across the face and tossed her to the ground.
"Stay there," the man demanded as two others moved into her room and began to search.
Looking on through the open door, Tatiana started to move forward when they pulled the trunk out from under her bed, but the man above her raised his fist. "No! Please! Not that one!"
"So that's where you're keeping the food?" the soldier above her sneered.
Tatiana turned her face away as the men opened the case and dumped it onto the bed. Silence fell in the room. Curious about the sudden stop to the search, the man above her turned back towards the room. "Well? What did you find?"
"Sir, um. You should come see this," one of the men mumbled.
"Please, don't," the blonde whimpered curling in on herself more.
The soldier snorted and stormed into the room, only to stop dead and fall silent himself. A moment later, she heard the three of them leave in silence, hurrying away down the corridor. Looking up, Tatiana waited until they were gone before wiping her face and standing. Heading back into the room, she locked the door behind her and retrieved her pillow case. Only after she had put her food back in its hiding place did she consider the contents of the trunk.
She started to put them back in the trunk, only to still as she realized she had an opportunity here. Quickly, she threw everything into the trunk and closed it up. Then, opening the door, she poked her head out and cautiously looked both ways. Not seeing anyone, she hurried silently down the corridor carrying the trunk, until she came to the door leading outside. Cracking it open, she peeked out and saw only more of the soldiers moving around the ship searching for food—none of the sailors were visible.
Slipping outside, she rushed to the edge of the ship. Making sure she wasn't being watched, she flung the trunk overboard. Tatiana didn't stick around to watch it hit the water, no matter how satisfying that might have been. Instead, she hurried back to her room and locked up. After taking a few moments to use the wash room to wash her hands after handling the disgusting box and then clean her face from the tears, she settled back in to her drawing.
As her pencil swept over the paper, Tatiana's mind raced and she tried to come up with a story that sounded believable.
'I'm sorry, papa! They made me let them in, then searched the whole room. When they found the case, they… they said some mean things about you and then took it. They said they were going to throw it over.'
Hm. No. Not her enough. He'll get bored. So, put on the uniform then… then demand an apology for poor treatment of a guest at the hands of the men under his command. He should keep them on a shorter leash. And then, tell him we'll just have to make do with what we have. Maybe… yes. Demand his belt and tell him he needs to be punished for this failure.
As disgusting as her 'papa' was, the man was actually amazingly simple to understand. To manipulate. That didn't make him any less awful or dangerous, however.
Just wait. Wait, watch, and listen. And when I get my chance, I can't hesitate. I'll only get one chance, and if I fail, I'll end up like all the others before me.
Putting down his coffee cup, Director Donovan sighed. Looking around the table, he made sure everyone was there before turning his attention on Sam. "Alright Agent Singer, what was so urgent that couldn't wait until morning and absolutely required a face to face meeting?"
"And what the hell are you doing back in D.C.? I thought I sent you to South America?"
Sam looked around the room at the men in charge of the Company. They all wore looks ranging from disgruntled, to irate, to pissed as they sat around the table and sipped coffee at the ungodly hour of just past two in the morning. Standing up, Sam activated his computation orb and projected an illusion formula.
"I'll let the recordings speak for me." With that, he began to play the videos. First, the explosion. Even watching it in a hologram, it was still unnerving to see. Sam felt a bit better about it that he wasn't the only one who had reacted poorly, as the color drained from the faces of everyone there. One of them dropped the coffee cup he had been raising to his lips. The cup hit the edge of the table and fell to the floor, where it shattered and sent coffee and ceramic shards everywhere.
No one noticed.
Quietly, the Director Donovan spoke up. "We have to alert the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The President. Everyone. Start making phone calls. Get them out of bed and bring them in. And find someone who can analyze this. Those orbs take readings. We need to know exactly what it saw, pronto." There was dead silence. The former general raised his voice. "Am I talking to a wall? Move your asses!"
Several people left the room at once and the Director turned back to Sam. "I take it that wasn't all. You could've sent someone to deliver it."
"No, sir," Sam shook his head. "Keep watching."
Their attention turned back to the recording, which was still ongoing. A moment later, someone asked, "Is that a mage?"
"It is," Sam confirmed. "My recordings and personal observations showed that this was a mana-based bomb of some sort, which was later confirmed and is on video as such, by Dr. Schugel."
"That's a name I didn't think we'd hear again," came a quiet murmur.
Sam continued, ignoring the interruption. "My readings will show that when she showed up, the mana concentration in the area abruptly dropped. It is my belief that the Germans discovered a way to fix mana in place and store it for later. So they set off a mana bomb, then she comes in and cleans up the excess mana to keep it from showing on our sensors later on. I barely detected the detonations during the week I was there, and I was less than a hundred miles from them. What's left over after she absorbs it all would fade into the background ambient mana and be undetectable to anyone much further away than that."
"So then, who is she?" the Director asked.
"We're getting to that." Sam held up a hand and waited. A moment later, she zoomed straight for him in the video. Then, there she was—the Devil herself, in the flesh. Or, at least, a recording of her at any rate.
A quiet whisper was the only sound in the room for just a moment. "The Devil of the Rhine."
Then, she began to speak. "Good morning."
The room listened, several of them taking notes as she introduced herself, putting a name to the face. To Sam's surprise, no one actually seemed surprised at that and he had to wonder why. He did notice a few annoyed glances sent his way at her ribbing him over getting caught, and made a mental note to find a way to cover his ass later.
"Wait," one of the people at the table asked, as Sam's orb was confiscated and turned over to one of the enemy mages. "Why is the recording still running if you aren't supplying it mana?"
The answer to that was simple and one Sam hadn't liked when he discovered it, upon landing and checking his footage. "Because she wanted it to record."
"So you're saying she just showed her hand, intentionally? Cocky."
The Director shook his head, before eyeing some of the higher ranking men at the table. "Not cocky. Confident."
"Sir? Is there something you're not telling us?"
Sam watched and listened as it became obvious that the Director and everyone at the top level knew something everyone else didn't. The Director confirmed it a moment later. "That information is above your pay grade." Once more, he focused on Sam. "Go home. Get some sleep. I want your full report on my desk in the morning. Consider yourself on leave for the rest of the week, but stay in town. Keep yourself available to answer questions on things the orb might not have picked up."
"Yes, sir," Sam nodded. Taking off his orb, he asked, "Do you want it now, or…?"
"Now," the Director held out his hand and Sam moved around the table to hand it over. "Go down to the armory and have them issue you a spare for now."
Sam left the room quickly, closing the door behind him. Turning to the others, Director Donovan said, "Everyone below director level clearance, leave the room." Several people made to protest, but he cut them off. "Now."
Once the room was secure, he turned to the half a dozen other people in charge of running various aspects of their little organization. "That all but confirms it, people. You all were there for Thompson's report, and now we've got video proof." The general tapped the orb sitting on the table in front of him. "It's a fucking magical Sword of Damocles over the heads of everyone above the equator, and it could fall at any moment and start wiping out cities, and we'd have no warning. This is going straight to the top, but we need something to tell the President. We need options."
Turning, Director Donovan glared at one of the men across the table. "And Wilson? I don't care what it takes. How much money you have to offer him. How much you have to kiss his ass. You're the reason he's gone, so you're going to get him back. Thompson's the closest thing we have to an expert on von Degurechaff. If he isn't in the Cabinet Room at 0800, you'll be out on your ass."
"But sir—"
"No buts. Get it done."
"Thanks, hon," Jack kissed his wife as she handed him a cup of coffee.
"Bye mom, bye dad!" Jack Jr. called as he left the house at a run, heading for the bus waiting at the end of the driveway.
Watching their son go, the couple sat down at the table to plates of breakfast and Jack raised an eyebrow as Andrea smiled. He nearly jumped when her bare foot touched his inner thigh. "I want another one."
Jack just barely avoided choking on his coffee. "So soon? Jack only just started kindergarten."
"That makes this the perfect time for it."
Frowning, Jack thought about it as he ate. After a few minutes, he asked, "Are we really in a good place for that now? I've got some savings, but the job market is flooded with people coming back from the war. I've got a few bites, but nothing solid so far."
"Mm. I'm sure. Don't lose hope. God will provide," Andrea smiled.
"Let's wait until after he provides before making a decision."
His wife nodded, but didn't stop playing footsie under the table. Not that Jack minded. As much as he enjoyed his work, the hours were long and he didn't get to spend as much time with his wife and son as he'd like. And as frustrating as not having work and a steady income to provide for his family was, he couldn't say he hadn't enjoyed catching up with them. Andrea had been especially affectionate lately…
Oh, Jack realized, looking up at the smiling woman eating across from him. She's already pregnant, isn't she?
It was that realization that pushed him to finish up his breakfast quickly and head to his study. Digging through his address book full of contacts, he began marking down who would be best to call on for a favor. He hadn't wanted to rely on calling in a favor to get a new job, especially when a lot of them worked in military related jobs and moved in the same circles, so hiring him when he was blacklisted by his former employer might cause them problems, but a baby already on the way changed things.
Just as he was finishing up, the phone rang. Absently, Jack reached over and pulled it off the hook. "Thompson residence."
"Jack. This is Chief Wilson."
"Oh, good morning, Bob," Jack grinned, knowing how much the man hated that.
Sure enough, Jack could hear the frown as Wilson said, "That's 'Chief Wilson—'"
"It was while I worked for you, Bob. You had me fired for, what was it again? 'Indulging crazy conspiracy theories?' So, it's either Bob or it's nothing, and I hang up. And I can only assume you're calling because you actually need something now and Director Donovan told you to do whatever it takes to get it. So. How can I help the CIA, Bob?"
Wilson took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I was wrong."
Jack blinked at that. Frowning, he sat up a bit straighter. "Excuse me?"
"I was wrong. I apologize."
Slowly, Jack felt dread creeping up. "Oh, it's serious."
"Quite," Wilson drawled. "Some new evidence has some to light and, well. You were right."
For just a moment, all Jack could hear was the dull roar of blood and a faint ringing in his ears. After a few moments to process that, he asked, "Why are you calling me, then?"
"The Director wants to offer you your old job back. He needs you for a briefing in the White House, by 0800."
Jack glanced at the clock and scoffed. "That's forty-five minutes from now. With traffic—"
"You're a mage. Fly there. Land on the street in front of the entrance we use and it should be fine. So, can I count on you?"
Narrowing his eyes, Jack considered for a moment before grinning. "I don't know. I was scheduled for an interview at that time. They were offering me more than double what you were paying me for my old salary, plus benefits—"
"We'll match it," Wilson agreed, entirely too quickly.
Jack continued on as if Wilson hadn't just tipped his hand about how desperate he was. "—and with better hours. Five days a week, seven hours a day plus paid lunch. A month paid vacation and a month's sick leave. Two days off minimum for holidays and two weeks each for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years. Can you believe it?"
There was a pause on the other end, before Wilson grunted. "Like I said, we'll match it."
"Match it, huh? I don't know, Bob. I mean, you kind of soured me on the Company. Also, I just found out my wife's pregnant. I've got to plan for the future, you know. I'd need a bit more pay."
Making a frustrated noise, Wilson caved. "Fine. Twenty-five percent raise—"
"Twenty-five percent of my new salary."
"Yes, damnit."
Jack nodded, though he knew Wilson couldn't see it. "Sounds good, Chief Wilson. I'll tell you what. Meet me at the entrance with the new paperwork ready for me to sign and you've got yourself a deal."
"Fine, yes. My secretary will be outside. We'll be waiting in the Cabinet Room."
With that, Wilson hung up. Laughing, Jack put the phone in the cradle and stood. Grabbing his coat, he pulled it on and made his way towards the front door. "Hon! I'm going out! Looks like I've got my old job back!"
"That's great news!" he heard her call from the direction of the laundry room. "Tell me all about it when you get back!"
Jack collected his keys and headed outside, before taking to the air—making sure to accelerate slowly. He didn't have any problems flying, it was only pulling tight maneuvers that he was banned from, at the advisement of every doctor he'd spoken with. He had almost sworn off of flying altogether after the accident, but part of his self-imposed rehabilitation after they told him he'd never be able to walk again was to get back in the air—and he was glad he hadn't given up on it.
The flight to his old office was much shorter than the drive and soon enough, he was being handed his old ID badge and office keys back by Earl and waved through security. Hurrying down to his office, Jack thankfully found everything just as he'd left it. Not quite certain exactly what he would need, and knowing much of it was on his computation orb anyway, he only grabbed the essentials—namely, the latest information about the satellites and his own personal profile he'd been building on the Devil of the Rhine, or at the time Lt. Col. Tanya von Degurechaff as he now knew her to be named.
Then, it was a trip back up to the parking lot and a short flight over to the White House. Landing where he'd been instructed, he found Chief Wilson's secretary waiting just as promised. "Good morning, Rose," Jack sent her a smile.
"Morning, Jack," she smiled back, offering a clipboard with several sheets of paper.
Jack took a moment to take pictures with his computation orb before signing them and stuffing his copies in the front of the Degurechaff folder. "Thanks Rose."
"Sure thing, Jack. I'll get them filed within the hour. And good luck! They're uh, they're not in a good mood."
"Yeah, I imagine not," he muttered, shaking his head and going inside.
This wasn't his first trip through these halls, but it was the first time he'd been anything close to the spotlight. The last several times, he had been there just as a junior analyst—essentially just a glorified gofer to make his bosses look more important, fetch coffee, and hold their paperwork. That had been a few years back now however and he was a full analyst now.
Okay Jack, just stick to what you know unless someone asks for more. I've got Professor Wolfe's video recorded so I can play that for them if I need to.
He showed his badge at the door and was let in by one of the two Secret Service agents on duty outside. As soon as he entered, Director Donovan waved him over to an empty seat beside him. Taking the seat, Jack briefly eyed the man on Donovan's other side, but thought nothing of it when he didn't recognize him. Soon enough, President Calvin entered and took a seat at the head of the table.
Looking over the table, the man took in everyone there for a moment as he accepted a cup of coffee from a secretary. Soon enough, the room was empty of everyone who didn't have the necessary security clearance to be there and the doors closed and locked. "I've been hearing some very worrying rumors this morning. So, someone please clear this up for me and tell me exactly what is going on."
To Jack's left, Director Donovan waved briefly. "That would be us, Mr. President. Jack, if you would, please tell everyone here what you told us."
"Yes sir," Jack nodded and stood. "Last week I received a package in the mail at the office, containing a film reel and a reel of audio tape, along with still photographs taken from an observatory in Pittsburgh. Later that night, I met with retired Capt. Leo King of the U.S. Naval Observatory and confirmed that the information I'd been sent was accurate. I'm going to play back that video for you and I want you to keep in mind that this has been verified multiple times over, both by independent observatories and scientists, and our own people. I'm sure we can get Capt. King on the phone if you'd like to hear from him yourself, afterwards. With that said…"
Jack brought up the video and projected it over the table for everyone to see. He watched their faces as they listened, taking note of who believed what they were seeing and hearing and who he would need to work on convincing. President Calvin, he noticed, maintained a neutral face the whole time—even as Dr. Wolfe described how easy it would be for one of the theoretical satellite weapons to take out much of the capital and all of them with it. Jack couldn't get a good read on him, but that was fine. It wasn't his job to convince the President one way or another, it was just his job to present the information he had.
When the video finished, Jack shut it off and continued. "It's my theory that the disappearance of our fleet in the Atlantic was caused by the test of a prototype of one of these devices, and that the kidnapping of Dr. Schugel's assistants by the Russy Federation and the doctor's own disappearance are linked. The morning I gave this briefing, I received evidence that proved that the one who carried out the test was still alive."
Jack projected an image of Lt. Col. Tanya von Degurechaff in uniform over the table, followed by one of the pictures taken from the air base where her people had purchased one of their aircraft. "We have a paper trail showing where her people bought several of our bombers, right here in the U.S.. That was barely a day before Dr. Schugel's disappearance. The day of his disappearance, records show one of those bombers—Murder Inc.—landing in Germany, and then taking off just behind the plane that was to bring Dr. Schugel here and put him to work under Operation Paperclip.
"Despite her age, Lt. Col. von Degurechaff is a highly decorated and extremely competent soldier, and every record we have shows that she trained her people, the Salamander Battle Group, to that same level. Carrying out a mid-air retrieval of a prisoner is well within the capabilities of the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion, which makes up the backbone of Salamander. I have reason to believe that she took Salamander and fled to South America—Brasa, specifically. Since then, they've set up shop and Dr. Schugel has continued his work with the V-2 rocket and other wunderweapons. Information gathered from his interrogation and that of his assistants shows that one such weapon was an experimental new computation orb and later, a new line of orbs derived from it. Which is to say that a mana-based bomb launched into space is just the next in the logical chain of progression given what he's already done."
With that, Jack took his seat and dismissed the hologram over the table. As he did, several people began speaking all at once.
"This is preposterous!"
"The mana requirements alone make such a large network of bombs impossible! One maybe, but hundreds? Impossible!"
"If it's true, we need to do something—"
"Do what? Hare off down to South America on a maybe? Have you lost your mind?!"
Director Donovan raised his voice, speaking over them all. "Agent Singer," he called into the chaos in that Drill Sergeant voice that had every former and current military man, including Jack himself, shutting up and coming to attention sitting. "Your report, please."
"Yes sir," the man opposite the Director from Jack answered and stood. "I just returned from Brasa after a run-in with the Devil myself, so I can confirm firsthand that she's alive and well. As is Dr. Schugel. I met him, too."
Singer gestured and a hologram sprang up of the same blonde, who now wore a uniform of the Brasa Army and the stars of a General. Beside her was an image of Dr. Schugel—wearing his lab coat, but under it, a much looser shirt and a pair of shorts, with a straw hat on his head for the sun. "She kicked me out of the country personally, but not before letting me see this."
Another illusion joined the first. The doubters fell silent as they watched the explosion. As the video ran, Agent Singer spoke over the audio. "I'd thought that they were just working on some magic-tech jet equivalents," another series of images and videos joined them, of a silvery jet-like aircraft with no visible engines and clearly American bombers that had been retrofitted.
"We've got the proof right here that they've got some kind of super bomb. If we had a super bomb and the ability to send a bunch of them into space, then just send them down on whoever we didn't like, we wouldn't hesitate to do it."
Another video joined the others and in it, Agent Singer had a conversation with General von Degurechaff at knife-point. "She's insane. A war criminal and a murderer. And she's got a gun pointed to our collective heads that can kill tens of thousands at the press of a button."
"You're wrong."
The room fell silent and all eyes turned to Jack. For a moment, he wondered what they were all looking at, before realizing he had spoken that aloud. Singer's jaw flexed and his hands clenched where he stood. "Oh yeah, wise guy? What do you know about the Devil?"
"She's intelligent. Highly so. Intelligent, educated, and rational. She operates exactly by the law or regulations where they exist, and where they don't, she follows what she believes to be reasonable standards and later writes up detailed reports justifying her actions after the fact. That's if she hadn't already done so," Jack stood, reaching out and dismissing Singer's illusion in favor of projecting his own. Each image contained papers he had been able to track down in the documents sent over from Germany, which were then faithfully translated—and all of them written by one Tanya Degurechaff. "She saw the war coming years in advance. It's why she enlisted voluntarily—because that's the only way to advance past the rank of captain in the Imperial military. Conscripts weren't allowed to advance further.
"Later, she published several papers for their war college. In the first, well before the war had escalated, she was the first person to use the terms Great War, World War, and First World War. Later, she wrote other theoretical papers that would later be used as the basis for things I'm sure you've all heard of. Operation Revolving Door? That was her brainchild. Designating all men of 'fighting age' as militants in a combat theater? All her. Do you want to know what her last published papers were about, before she left the Empire? She made three."
Jack enlarged the first image. "For the first, the summary was the negative economic and sociological impact of punitive financial measures upon a country and the inevitable progression towards war when those unjust debts are ignored. She knew that we and our allies would stick Germany with the bill for the war and she predicted a Second World War coming from it. The second…"
He brought up the second document. "The title is, The Potential Impacts of Long Term Cold War. It goes on to describe a war where two or more sides constantly build up their forces. Constantly race to compete against each other in all fields. Where the threat of the war going hot is ever present. It describes techniques, terms, and strategies that those of us who have seen behind the Iron Curtain know all too well and names the Russy Federation, followed by the People's Republic of China, as the next two big threats, but that the real threat and the driving force behind them is the ideological cancer of communism. We knew going in that the Federation were going to turn against the West eventually, but we thought it would be in ten or twenty years. General Degurechaff predicted that it would be immediately after the war. And now, here we are, with the Federation kidnapping the people who worked for the guy who made a bomb that can wipe out cities."
Shaking his head, Jack continued. "Finally, the last. Titled: Living in a MAD world. The summary reads: The psychological impact upon a nation and its people of living under the prolonged threat of Mutually Assured Destruction through either nuclear or mana-based weapons and ironically, the safety that it brings." Jack paused to look around the room and noticed that several of the higher ranking military men and the President himself looked uncomfortable at that. "If you'll read through the last one, you'll see that she's not insane. She views what she calls Weapons of Mass Destruction, or WMDs, the same way we view guns. If everyone in this room has a gun on their hip, no one is going to draw because then everyone else will. It's the old adage, an armed society is a polite society."
Agent Singer scoffed. "Yeah sure. But all of that's just from what you've read in paperwork and reports. You're a desk jockey, Thompson. I work in the field. I've met her face to face." He projected the image of General Degurechaff pressing Agent Singer into the deck of a boat over the table again. "Does she look stable to you? Rational?"
Jack sighed, before pulling up the video himself and playing it back. The General's words filled the room again. As she spoke, Jack edited the video, cutting out Agent Singer's own audio.
"You know, you've been a bit impolite since coming to my country. You should have at least introduced yourself first. Perhaps offered to take me to dinner."
"She's being serious here. Everything we see after shows that she wanted you there." Jack moved forward a bit. "She knew who you were, why you were there, and what you were doing. Her people made you the moment you landed but they left you alone, because she was expecting you to extend professional courtesy. And then, you pulled a gun on her."
"Now that's just rude." Jack sped through the ensuing scuffle. "We could have had this conversation over dinner in a nice restaurant like civilized professionals, showing each other common courtesies and mutual respect. Instead, now we get to have it here, with you at the edge of my blade."
"You brought it on yourself, Agent Singer. You drew a weapon on a high ranking military official of a foreign nation. You botched the operation, when she made it clear that she didn't mind a CIA presence as long as we were polite about it. Which she made clear with this."
"Mr. Singer, what I want hadn't changed since I allowed you to listen in to our briefing and planning session aboard the Ingrid—at least, it hadn't until you pulled your sidearm on me and showed me that you aren't willing to speak as equals, but feel the need to always have the upper hand in any negotiation." Jack skipped ahead a bit, "As for my new demands, I want you and your people to keep their noses our of our business if you can't understand such basic principles as courtesy and manners."
"She can be reasoned with. Negotiated with. Now, what I want to know is what's this about a briefing session? That sounds important."
Agent Singer glared at him, but produced another hologram—this one taken from inside a submarine. "The satellites are real and they can see out of them," he grumbled. "She wants us to pay her to deal with commies coming to take the Panama canal. But we can't worry about the threat to trade one, five, or ten years down the line when she's got city-killing weapons of mass destruction right now!"
"That's enough," President Calvin cut in. "The reality is that we have to react based on the worst case scenario, not on how we wish things could be. Everyone but the Joint Chiefs clear the room. The rest of you, I want options for dealing with Degurechaff and Schugel."
Part of Jack wanted to keep his mouth shut. To just go along, go back to work, and enjoy his new salary. That this had officially become above his pay grade and not his problem. The potential consequences wouldn't let him. They were about to try to grab the tiger by the tail and it seemed that none of them thought that just leaving the tiger alone was an option.
"Sir, you're making a mistake! Just send someone down to talk to her!"
Once again, the room went silent. President Calvin looked at Jack for a moment before chuckling and shifting his gaze to Director Donovan. "Make sure you keep him around. We need someone willing to speak up when they think something isn't right. Unfortunately son," he looked back to Jack, "I've made up my mind. The time for talking is over."
"Come on, Jack," the Director put a hand on Jack's arm and guided him from the room. "Let's go talk about it in my office. Singer, you too."