Free Blood Flag: A Paul Madriani Novel by Steve Martini

administration got caught snooping at the embassies in Mexico City, that could carry serious domestic political implications for the Hispanic vote in the United States.
    It was the world gone upside down. On the domestic side, after nearly sixty years of relative racial peace, the United States was beginning to pick at the wounds, and sores were starting to open once again. On the foreign front the supposed leader of the free world was going through a foreign policy convulsion on the order of a Venusian eruption. No one, not even its closest allies, had a clue as to what it might do next.
    Some observers believed there was a mad grab for power going on inside the country, a naked attempt at permanent one-party rule that involved a rapid, almost overnight change in the nation’s demographics, the theory being to open the southern border and invite in the flood, one massive final push to get the party over the top.
    Dahan didn’t know if this assessment was accurate. What he did know was that he and others at the Mossad could not alter the course of US history. They would be far too busy in the maelstrom that was coming, doing everything they could just trying to save their own country.
    For a long moment he stood there staring at his own reflection in the dark glass.
    “What are you thinking?” said Tal.
    “I’m thinking there’s a lot of chaos out there. Enough problems for a troubled world that it doesn’t need this one. Suppose it was ISIS.”
    “What?”
    “Whoever was at the house,” said Dahan. “With a few connections over the Internet and some domestic on-site help they could have mounted an attempt.”
    “It’s possible, I suppose. Of course, that assumes they have a lead on it,” said Tal.
    “We did. They could have gotten the information from the same dark sources. If they get their hands on it, you can be sure they’ll use it, the masters of manipulation that they are. Given what’s happening in the US and elsewhere, the deep political divisions, the pent-up emotions, the racial angst, the armies of tattooed lunatics searching to find some point of ignition, if ISIS finds it, they’ll use it to try to set the world on fire.”
    “Do you think the Americans know it’s out there?” asked Tal.
    Dahan shook his head slowly. “They think it was destroyed in a bombing raid.”
    “Why don’t we tell them?”
    “They’ll laugh at us,” said Dahan. “Even if they believe us, they won’t see the danger.”
    “They’re about to get a rude awakening. So what do we do?”
    “We follow our marching orders. We find it as quickly as we can,” said Dahan. “And we destroy it!”

ELEVEN
    O nce the two sheriff’s detectives started questioning our staff, word of Sofia’s murder spread through the office like a kerosene-fueled fire. There was sobbing in the hallway outside my door. Secretaries and some of the part-timers were reduced to tears.
    Everyone had the same questions—above all, how did it happen and why? For the moment there are no answers. Harry and I can be sure that the minute they find out where Sofia worked, the media hounds will be jamming our phone lines and knocking on our door. As it is, Sally is having a difficult time keeping it together just to answer the phones.
    The detectives pitch the usual questions about Sofia, who were her friends, where did she party, was she aware of any threats, were there stories of unrequited affections or twisted admirers? One by one, as the cops finish with them, I send our people home. Harry and I have decided to close the office. We figure to give it a day or two, let things die down, give everyone time to adjust to the awful news.
    I have Sally roll the phone lines over to the answering service and tell them to take messages. Harry and I have a mission. We need to get out of here, over to Brauer’s house to see if there’s any connection between it and Sofia’s murder.
    Noland, the detective, is dragging his feet, refusing to say whether