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Gitsh, Marcus and Dan all traded looks, then nodded. None of them doubted for a second that Clarence would kill Sanchez if it came to that. Margaret wondered if she’d saved her patient or only delayed his execution.

“Margaret and I will suit up,” Clarence said. “When we’re done, you guys do the same. I want everyone sealed up nice and safe. Dan, you stay in here and keep an eye on the news. Holler if there’s anything major we need to know about. Gitsh, Marcus, you take up positions at the front and back of the trailers. Watch for trouble. You see anything fishy, call it out over the comm system. Do not engage without the rest of us, got it?”

Gitsh and Marcus nodded.

“Come on, Doctor Montoya,” Clarence said. “Let’s get to work on your patient.”

12:30 P.M.: A City Paralyzed

The cacophony of a dozen animated phone conversations filled the Situation Room. Satellite images of Detroit lit up the main screen. Other monitors showed live feeds from news cameras and tactical maps dotted with unit symbols. One screen showed two tallies: one for dead, one for wounded.

The top of every screen showed a countdown: forty-five minutes and fifteen seconds, the time remaining before the clock struck 1:15 P.M.

President John Gutierrez sat at the end of the table, his face an expressionless mask. He looked at the monitors one by one, then circled back again. Murray was sweating like a pig, d.a.m.n near hyperventilating, and Gutierrez sat there looking calm, collected—like a leader.

The unflappable Vanessa Colburn wasn’t sweating at all. She worked the phones, quietly offering advice to Gutierrez, but only when he asked for it. As Murray’s World of Secrets crumbled around him, he started to wonder if maybe she wasn’t the political vampire he’d made her out to be. For the first time, Murray wondered if his way was wrong and Vanessa was right for wanting him out.

General Cooper had a phone pressed to each ear. He nodded once, then put a phone on each shoulder and called out to the room.

“A military convoy has been spotted heading south on I-75,” he said. “Seven vehicles, including two troop trucks. Around sixty men. I’ve got a squadron of Apaches moving to a good kill point.”

“On a highway?” Gutierrez said. “What kind of civilian damage will we face?”

“Moderate,” General Cooper said. “But a h.e.l.l of a lot less than if those two platoons get off the road and into the countryside.”

“Do it,” Gutierrez said.

No hesitation. This guy might turn out to be okay after all. Murray certainly hoped so, because it was high time to pa.s.s the baton to the next generation. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. It was one thing to go Cold War or cross swords with the Iranians, but Ogden’s men were tearing Detroit to pieces.

Detroit.