Free First Comes Duty (The Hope Island Chronicles Book 2) by PJ Strebor Page B

signature on the surface,” the navy tech said from one of the consoles.
    “Where?”
    “The colonial archive building in the center of the capital,” the newcomer said. 
    The tech nodded to Admiral Julien, who sent a withering gaze toward the civilian.
    “What makes you think you’ll get out of here alive?” Julien said between set teeth.
    “I suppose it depends on whether you wish to pay my price.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “My associate, on the surface, has instructions to detonate all devices if he does not hear from me every sixty seconds. Kill me and you will lose a lot more than civilian casualties.”
    “He’s bluffing.” A captain, who had taken charge at the sensor console, bared his teeth. “We have detected one signature and it’s of low yield.” His expression showed a decisively hard quality. “There will be casualties, but only in the thousands.”
    President Sellassy examined the bold civilian. Outwardly a sweet-faced young man, except for that unmistakably lethal quality in his eyes. 
    “What is your name?”
    “That is of no concern. What I—”
    “Indulge me, sir. Your name, your position and, most importantly, what you want.” 
    A tight smirk, perhaps hinting at respect, darted briefly onto his face. “Very well, Madam President.” If he was scared, as he should be, his voice did not betray him. “You may call me Saxon. I am an operative of the Imperial Pruessen Navy, Intelligence Division.” A low snarl filled the room. “What do I want? That’s simple. I want, within the hour, the unconditional surrender of Talgarno to the naval forces of the Pruessen Empire.”
    The room erupted into pandemonium. Admiral Julien pulled his sidearm.
    “Enough of this!” Sellassy screamed, causing the frantic noise to cease in an instant. “Admiral Julien, you will holster your weapon. Now!” She waited until everyone had regained their seats before continuing. “We will have order in this room or people will be sorry.”
    The room fell silent.  
    “Now, Mister Saxon, what proof do you have that this device of yours will actually work?”
    Saxon nodded slowly, then spoke into his comm mike. The president could not hear exactly what he said, but thought she heard the word spicer .
    “Detonation on the surface,” the captain said, his face distorting with rage. “Half-kilotonne warhead, unusual radiation readings.” He consulted with the tech. “It’s a dirty bomb.”
    Through the view-plate, a flash of light erupted from the eastern coast.
    “Your prized archives are gone and the center of your largest city will be uninhabitable for the next thousand years.” With an inhuman calmness, he set his gaze on the president. “Do you want more proof?”
    “No,” the president said, somehow maintaining eye contact with the Pruessen. “You have made your point, Saxon. Tell me, how did you manage to smuggle nuclear devices onto our world?”
    “You are playing for time, madam,” Saxon said coldly. “You think, by delaying me, you will somehow discover a miraculous remedy to your current malady.” The swine smirked. “But no matter. As much as I respect the fighting qualities of your navy, your internal security is laughable. I was escorted to your planet aboard the destroyer Sledgehammer.” His smirk radiated an ugly confidence. “Now, back to business.”
    Having moved closer to him, this time she heard him say, “Spicer, activate two.”
    “Second device detected,” the captain said. The room fell silent in anticipation of dreadful news. “Blackmore on Henley.”
    The birthplace of the prophet Emaonon. This creature had no shame. Sellassy fought back an overpowering urge to obliterate Saxon from existence.
    “All right, Saxon, you’ve made your point. However, you must understand that, regardless of what you do to our world, we will never surrender.”
    “Spicer, detonate two.”
    “No,” she shouted, but too late.
    “Second detonation.