The Rose Garden
The White House
Washington, D.C.
Day 18 of the Red Storm
There was a moment of utter silence, and Luther Swann believed that it was a silence felt around the world. The entire planet—anyone tuned into the president’s speech, everyone who had heard his words and those of Senator Maria Giroux—were sitting in absolutely shocked silence.
And then the moment passed.
Every reporter began yelling, screaming, their questions colliding and crashing into one another, turning words into noise. The president and the senator stood there and endured it. They both looked scared, thought Swann. And they both looked relieved.
The world had just hit another of those moments when the gear slipped and then caught. The engine would rev higher, building momentum. Whether it would race on into a new future or smash into a wall of unyielding reality was yet to be seen.
Yuki Nitobe stood in the front row of the press corps and it was she who got the nod from the president to ask the first question. It was a gift from Luther Swann. A bit of stage management for all the right reasons.
“Mr. President,” she asked, having to yell above the din, “does that mean the V-Wars are over?”
The president took a breath. “It means that people of good heart—humans and vampires, bloods and beats—will unite to fight a common enemy. The Red Empire is a terrorist organization that does not speak for the vampires of America or the people of America. The Red Empire is a terrorist organization that does not want to build anything or repair anything. They want to tear down everything of value and replace it with pain, with destruction, with subjugation. They are dedicated to genocide and we will oppose them and defeat them. Not ‘we’ the humans of America. I speak for ‘we’ the people of this great nation. Human and vampire. Together. United to preserve our country and our world.”
Yuki yelled, “I have a follow-up question for Senator Giroux!”
The president ignored every other reporter and nodded to her. “Ask your question.”
“Senator—you’ve outed yourself as a vampire, as the Crimson Queen. That’s huge. What will that mean for the conflict between bloods and beats?”
It was the crucial question, suggested to her by Swann and approved by Church.
The senator nodded and as the president stepped to one side she stood behind the podium, tall and elegant, regal. Queenlike, even though she was not wearing her mask.
“I echo what the president has said. However, I know that a speech is not going to change the hearts and minds of everyone. There will be conflict on both sides of the blood line. However, I speak now to all of those who know and understand what I have tried to do with the Crimson Court. We never took sides but have worked with both sides to try and prevent needless violence. So I speak now—openly—to every vampire who respects and acknowledges what we have tried to do. I do not ask you to lay down your arms and walk away. No, it isn’t the time for that. The Red Empire is rising. They are powerful and they are many. But we are many more. And we are powerful. I ask you to stand with us against extinction, against genocide. You know the nature of the V-gene. Everyone carries it. Everyone. That means that beats and bloods are one people. One essential species. The Crimson Court, my people, live within and without the United States and within and without hundreds of other countries. There are millions of us. From this moment forward we have only one enemy and that is the Red Empire.”
Her voice rose as she spoke and those last few words came out harsh and clear and hard as daggers. The president took her hand and raised it as flashbulbs popped and popped.
In a large room filled with banks of computers, more than fifty people stood or sat and watched as the president and the senator began trying to answer an impossible number of questions.
Captain Joe Ledger stood with a cup of coffee and nodded to the people on the screen.
“Give ’em hell,” he said.
Around him the staff at the Hangar, the Brooklyn headquarters of the Department of Military Sciences, began to applaud and then they shot to their feet and cheered.
In the hollow cavern of a dry goods warehouse in Baltimore a hundred people, men and women, stood watching the faces on the big screen TV. The president and the senator. They watched them declare war.
Only one person sat while everyone else stood.
He was thin, pale, with dark hair and darker eyes.
The press asked their questions. The faces on the screen gave their answers. The hundred pairs of eyes watched and a hundred pairs of ears listened in an eerie silence.
Finally the seated man raised a remote control and turned the television off. He tossed the remote onto the floor, lit a cigarette, and smoked in silence for a full minute. No one spoke.
“If it’s war they want,” said Michael Fayne, “then let’s give it to them.”
And then every one of the Red Knights roared out with voices of thunder.