Before Jack can invite the person in, the door is flung open and Dahun stands there, chest heaving.
“What is it?”
“We need privacy.”
Jack talks to the room. “Go secure.”
The door shuts itself, locks, seals, the windows go opaque and start gently humming, the room fills with electromagnetic chaff, which Jack knows about but neither of them can see.
“Done. What?”
“The map of the bunkers that we made? An operative of mine just pulled it off a Ministry of Defence Nimbus portal.”
“So they know where our bunkers are…”
“Mr. Mayor, they can target each one with bunker busters. That we have a leak does not surprise me because so many in Rosewater are ideologically opposed to breaking away, but that does not minimise the danger of targeted missile use.”
“Then you don’t know.”
“Know what, sir?”
“I was about to call you.” Jack points to the livefeed coming from within the dome. He clicks his fingers and it rises to 3D: Nigerian commandos some yards away from Kaaro and Aminat.
“Those are 82nd boys. How did they get through our lines?”
“Good question, one that is yours to answer, but meanwhile, tell me how we are going to protect our two assets.”
Jack notes astonishment on Dahun’s face but not panic, and he knows he picked the right soldier of fortune. Dahun makes a call. “Rose-6, this is Rose-1, hit back… Yes… Deploy five, six and twelve, concentrate fire on location eighteen-B, plasma fire only, nothing with shockwaves, there are friendlies in there… South-east quadrant… damn straight. Go. Do it now.”
It takes a minute or two, but the fire begins and the commandos turn towards the part of the dome that disintegrates. They see Aminat raise her rifle and shoot two in the head, impressive shots rendered with less grandeur due to the miniaturisation. She runs towards the others before they can react. Kaaro stays where he is.
The radio squawks and multiple alarms go off. Dahun listens and whispers into his phone.
“Sir, multiple boundary breaches and incoming.”
“Incoming from where?”
“Everywhere, sir, it’s like a sky armada. This is it.”
Jack spares one last glance for the fight in the dome. Good luck.
He moves his wheelchair back to clear the desk, then he and Dahun leave.
Nigeria is all in. The sky is full of bombers and they drop bombs like seagulls dropping shit. Most are conventional weapons, but Dahun recognises bunker busters and the unerring accuracy with which at least four bunkers have been destroyed.
“This is some Second World War blitzkrieg shit, boss,” he says.
Jack is quiet. He finds privacy and makes a phone call to the Tired Ones. It is time to negotiate, he thinks.
“I knew you’d call,” says his erstwhile mentor.
“You knew about this air attack, didn’t you?”
“What do you think? Some of us are still committed to the well-being of African states, and cooperate with each other.”
“Do you know how many people he has killed? How many he is killing as we speak on the phone?”
“I taught you better than that, Jack. Never blame the other party for your woes. You and you alone are the architect of where you find yourself. That’s one of the first lessons. You cannot be a leader otherwise.”
“I guess all I need to do is wait. I won’t have anybody left alive to lead.”
“And self-pity is another thing I trained out of you. When did you become this pathetic?”
Jack slows his breathing, and says, “I want to talk to him.”
“Oti. He won’t do that any more. He has the upper hand, and he’s looking to end this within the week.”
“Then be a go-between. I haven’t called you because I don’t know how bad my position is. I’ve called you to help me start a conversation.”
“My son, there is only one conversation the president wants to have: conditions of surrender. The question right now is whether he will let you live. Rosewater is finished. The alien is dead, and your little experiment with independent statehood is over. The Tired Ones will make sure you have a soft landing. I suspect teaching younger acolytes would be good for you, since you have learned the hard way.”
Jack cannot speak. Everything he wants is falling away. His wife will probably die in this shelling. The president probably wants him alive, humiliated. Maybe they will video the whole thing, like President Samuel Doe in Liberia, in 1990. They killed his guards, shot him in the leg, took him prisoner, tortured him, dragged him through the streets naked, dactylectomised him, finally decapitated him, and desecrated his bones a year later. Of course Doe himself took power by bloody coup, so—“Well?”
“I’m sorry, the bombardment affects the signal here. What were you saying?”
“Do you want me to make the call to the president? No Nigerian will follow a cripple.”
The last sentence hurts more, it seems, than every other indignity.
“Sir, I will call you back.”
He hangs up, places his phone hand over his stump, and he weeps. He does not think he has ever wept as an adult. When there are no more tears, he breathes in a hitching fashion, then it quietens. He dries his face on his shirt sleeve.
Back in the war room, Dahun, Femi and Lora wait for him.
Dahun says, “Boss, they are taking and holding ground. Not robots, not turrets, human troops.”
“We are going to surrender,” says Jack.
“Why?” says Femi.
“Look around you. We’re finished.”
“If we can just get Wormwood on side—”
“Wormwood is dead, Femi. The cherubs are eating what’s left of the dome as we speak and the ganglia are giving no power.”
“I’m still waiting to hear—”
“It’s over. It’s my decision.”
Unperturbed, Dahun says, “Pay me what you owe, sir. I need to pull my people out.”
Jack gestures to Lora. “Settle the accounts, please.”
Dahun talks into the radio. “All points, this is Rose-1, stand down, stand down, stand down. Signal 73, signal 73, signal 73. Good luck, and see you on the outside. Rose-1 out.”
“This is a mistake,” says Femi. He thinks she is afraid at first, but then realises she is shaking with rage. “We need to be a hundred per cent sure the alien is dead.”
“Which alien now? Wormwood or the plant?” asks Jack.
“The Beynon needs—”
“Either way, it’s my mistake. You can leave any time you like.”
Femi storms out.
“What now?” asks Lora.
“We make phone calls.”