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“I’m just pointing out the reality. You want to blame someone, blame Vicky. Hell, blame me. The decision to open the townships was made long before you came along.”

“I’m the one in that chair, Gunnar. I could have stopped it.”

“And had a revolution on your hands. Once the dracs disappeared, this was a done deal. I’m surprised we kept this place running as long as we did.”

No matter what Gunnar said, Peter knew the truth. He’d let down his guard, allowing himself to believe that it was all in the past—the war, the virals, the old way of doing things—and now two hundred thousand people were gone.

Henneman and Chase came clomping down the catwalk. Chase looked like he’d slept under a bridge somewhere, but Henneman, always a stickler for appearance, had somehow managed to get through the night with barely a hair out of place.

“Orders, General?” the colonel asked.

It was not the time to drop their defenses, but the men needed rest. Apgar put them on a four-hour rotation: one-third on the wall, one-third patrolling the perimeter, one-third in their racks.

“So what now?” Chase asked, as Henneman moved away.

But Peter had ceased listening; an idea was forming at the back of his mind. Something old; something from the past.

“Mr. President?”

Peter turned to face the two men. “Gunnar, what are our weak points? Besides the gate.”

Apgar thought for a moment. “The walls are sound. The dam’s basically impregnable.”

“So it’s the gate that’s the problem.”

“I’d say so.”

Would it work? It just might.

“My office,” said Peter. “Two hours.”

—

“Open the door.”

The officer keyed the lock; Peter stepped inside. Alicia was sitting on the floor of the cell. Her arms and legs were shackled in front; a third chain connected her hands to a heavy iron ring in the wall. Thick fabric had been used to cover the window, muting the light.

“About time,” she said drolly. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me.”

“I’ll knock when I’m done,” Peter told the guard.

He left them alone. Peter sat on the cot facing Alicia. A silent moment, the two regarding each other across a distance that felt far vaster than it was.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Oh, you know.” A shrug, dismissive. “Beats a bullet to the brain. You had me going for a second there.”

“I was angry. I still am.”

“Yeah, I sensed that.” Her eyes took slow measure of his face. “Now that I have a chance to really look at you, I’ve got to say, you’re holding up nicely. That snow on the roof suits you.”

He smiled, just a little. “And you look the same.”

She glanced around the tiny box of a room. “And you’re really running the show here? President and all that.”

“That seems to be the case.”

“Like it?”

“The last couple of days haven’t been so hot.”

These wry exchanges, like a dance to a song that only the two of them could hear: he couldn’t help himself; he’d missed them.

“You’ve put me in a bind, Lish. That was a pretty big splash you made last night.”

“My timing wasn’t the best.”

“As far as this government is concerned, you’re a traitor.”

She looked up. “And what does Peter Jaxon think?”

“You’ve been gone a long time. Amy seems to believe you’re on our side, but she’s not the one calling the shots.”

“I am on your side, Peter. But that doesn’t change the situation. In the end, you’re going to have to give her up. You can’t beat him.”

“See, this is where I have a problem. I’ve never heard you talk that way, not about anything.”

“This is different. Fanning is different. He’s been controlling everything from the start. The only reason we were able to kill the Twelve was because he let us. We’re all pieces on a board to him.”

“So why would you trust him now?”

“Maybe I’m not being clear. I don’t.”

“ ‘He comforted you.’ ‘He took care of you.’ Am I remembering this correctly?”

“He did, Peter. But that’s not the same thing.”

“You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“Why? So you’ll believe me? The way I see it, you don’t have a choice.”