Free The Scarlet Empress by Susan Grant Page B

sir.”
    The general left the driver behind, his leather trench coat whipping around his boots. At the security checkpoint, he handed over his attaché case for inspection and submitted to retinal and DNA scans before beginning the trek across the marble foyer to the Unity Office.
    The door slammed shut behind him. His eardrums popped. A pressure seal. The air he breathed was now from a separate source from that in the rest of the White House. Clasping his hands behind his back, he watched a circle of the carpet waver and open. A platform in the same shape as the cutout rose slowly from the depths beneath the floor, accompanied by a faint whirring noise. Armstrong stepped onto it and rode down to President Beauchamp’s briefing room.
    It was several degrees warmer there than the upper limit of the general’s comfort level. He preferred the chill of the north; the president, the cloying heat of the Central colony’s Louisiana district. Rich velvet wallpaper and similarly upholstered seating added to the thick, chokingatmosphere. Armstrong smelled cigar smoke in the air—and leather?
    He whirled around as a soldier clad in body armor emerged from the shadows. The young man wore new boots; that explained the leather smell. “Who are you?”
    “Lt. Col. Christian Bow. Presidential Special Ops,” he answered at the same time Beauchamp said, “For God’s sake, don’t frighten the boy with that scowl, Aaron.”
    Armstrong swerved his glare to Beauchamp, sitting, hands folded, at his massive desk. “It’s better to be safe than sorry, Aaron. You know that.”
    “Your weapon, General.” Bow held out a gloved hand. “Please.”
    “What the hell is going on?” Armstrong growled.
    “We continue to be in a state of national emergency. I cannot take any chances, not even with my most trusted associates.”
    “So, I’m your
associate
now? Is that the new, politically correct term for supreme commander? How droll.” The general thrust his weapon into Bow’s hand. The man inclined his head with respect and left, retreating somewhere into the bowels of the White House—with Armstrong’s pistol, a family heirloom! “This associate happens to command your military, your entire armed forces—”
    “And I intend for it to stay that way.”
    The men exchanged dark glances. The deteriorating, volatile situation had made doubters of them all. “Do you suspect me of plotting a military coup, Julius?”
    “Don’t look so insulted, Aaron. These are times of tremendous unrest in our great land. My greatest and most difficult duty is maintaining the integrity of theUnited Colonies of Earth. Even at the risk of insulting those I trust the most. Especially when they pay me an unexpected visit.”
    Armstrong didn’t give him the pleasure of an acknowledgment. “We got her,” he said simply.
    Beauchamp’s only outward reaction was the fanning of his fingers on the burled surface of his desk. He was, after all, a master politician. No one else could have steered the UCE on an unwavering course for as many years. “Banzai Maguire. In custody.” He closed his beefy fists, as if eager to get a piece of her himself. “Congratulations are due, General.”
    He acknowledged the compliment with a nod. “She’s on the way to Fort Powell, estimated time of arrival”—he glanced at his wristwatch—“nineteen thirty. Tonight.”
    Beauchamp pushed himself out an arm’s length from the desk. “It will soon be over, this terrible moment in our history.” He seemed overcome by emotion. “We need a trial. Quickly.”
    “After I’ve gotten what information I can out of her.”
    “Interrogation . . .”
    “Yes. No holds barred. Those are the orders I will give my interrogators and their guards.”
    The president frowned.
    “Don’t act so worried! I thought it was you who wanted her heart on a platter. I won’t kill her before you have your trial. Or at least I’ll endeavor not to.”
    “Oh, I’ll see her dead; don’t doubt