[FEBRUARY 19, 2033]
[0930 hours local time]
[Operations Command Center, Pentagon, Virginia]
Russell was in his office, staring at a tactical map of the Bering Strait when Bilal arrived.
Bilal was in a wheelchair. He was flanked by two MPs.
“Daniel,” Russell said. “Glad to see you’re up and around.”
Bilal smiled. “It’s good to be out of that hospital. The food was all right, but the wine selection was terrible.”
Russell laughed. “How can I help?”
“I have a question for you,” Bilal said.
“Shoot.”
“Why did you do it?” Bilal asked.
“Do what?” Russell asked.
“We think we know, but I’d like to hear it from the horse’s mouth,” Bilal said.
“You’re going to have to give me a clue here, Daniel,” Russell said.
Bilal had been holding a plastic folder. He opened it and withdrew a large photograph, handing it to Russell, who had to walk around the desk to take it.
He studied it before returning to his chair and placing it on the desk in front of him. He leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingertips together.
“How did you get on to me?” he asked.
“It wasn’t me,” Bilal said. “It was Wilton. That kid I had working for me. Ex-Angel.”
Russell nodded. “So he survived.”
“No.” Bilal’s expression was hard. “You sent him to the strait. Assigned him a frontline combat role, even though he was just out of his Spitfire training. He should have been in the reserves. A convenient way of getting rid of a witness, without any tough questions.”
“The battlefield can be a fickle thing,” Russell said. “Some live, some die.”
“And you thought you’d play the odds,” Bilal said. “You got him killed to protect your own hide.”
“And yet here you are,” Russell said.
“You know, I didn’t really trust Wilton,” Bilal said. “Occupational hazard. And you don’t give someone top security access without keeping an eye on them. Everything Wilton did, every key he pressed, every area he accessed, was copied to my computer.”
“Ah,” Russell said.
“And you still haven’t answered why.”
“It was a last resort,” Russell said. “I wasn’t prepared to see the human race wiped out. Nukes were our only option, and if the high command couldn’t see that, then the high command had to be replaced.”
“Turns out nukes weren’t our only option,” Bilal said. “We had the Angels.”
“It’s easy with hindsight,” Russell said. “There’s no way I would have done what I did if I had thought we had a chance any other way.”
“But you did it,” Bilal said. He wheeled himself close up against Russell’s desk and leaned forward, putting his elbows on the desk. “You want to know a funny thing? Wilton thought you were working for the Bzadians.”
“For the enemy!” Russell was shocked.
“Someone made sure that Able was on Little Diomede,” Bilal said.
“Not me,” Russell said.
“I know,” Bilal said. “We are already closing in on who was responsible.”
“Good,” Russell said. “That’s treason.”
“Treason,” Bilal said, “still carries the death penalty. One of the few crimes that do. Some kind of historical anomaly, I guess.”
Russell went white. “I cannot be accused of treason.”
“You bombed your own command center. Killed your own colleagues,” Bilal said. “Can you think of a better definition of your crime?”
“I acted in our best interests,” Russell said. “Not against them.”
“That, clearly, is a matter of opinion,” Bilal said. “And opinion can be a fickle thing.”