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Attack the system, she decided, cry out for the common man, for the intellect. Justify the mass murder of innocents, and promise a new way.
We are the gods of war.
Today at noon, our wrath struck down the military establishment known as the Pentagon. This symbol and structure of this faltering government's military strength has been destroyed. All within were guilty. All within are dead.
Once again, we call for the unconditional surrender of the government, a statement by the so-called Commander-in-Chief resigning all power. We demand that all military personnel, all members of the police forces lay down their weapons.
We who are Apollo promise clemency for those who do so within seventy-two hours. And annihilation for those who continue to oppose us.
It was Apollo's most sweeping statement, Eve noted. Broadcast less than six months before Rowan's house had been destroyed, with all its occupants.
What had he wanted, she wondered, this self-proclaimed god? What all gods wanted. Adulation, fear, power, and glory.
"Would you want to rule the world?" she asked Roarke. "Or even the country?"
"Good God, no. Too much work for too little remuneration, and very little time left over to enjoy your kingdom." He glanced over. "I much prefer owning as much of the world as humanly possible. But running it? No thanks."
She laughed a little, then propped her elbows on the counter. "He wanted to. When you take out all the dreck, he just wanted to be president
or king or despot. Whatever the term would be. It wasn't money," she added. "I can't find a single demand for money. No ransoms, no terms. Just surrender, you fascist pig cops, or resign and tremble, you big fat politicians."
"He came from money," Roarke pointed out. "Often those who do fail to appreciate its charms."
"Maybe." She skimmed back to Rowan's personal file. "He ran for mayor of Boston twice. Lost twice. Then he ran for governor and didn't pull it off, either. You ask me, he was just pissed. Pissed and crazy. The combo's lethal more often than not."
"Is his motive important at this point?"
"You can't get a full picture without it. Whoever's pushing the buttons in Cassandra's linked to him. But I don't think they're pissed."
"Just crazy then?"
"No, not just. I haven't figured out what else yet."
She shifted, rolled her shoulders, then set up to run comparisons on the names Roarke had fed into her machine.
It was a slow process, and a tedious one that depended more on the computer than its operator. Her mind began to drift as she watched names, faces, data, skim over the screen.
She didn't realize she'd fallen asleep. Didn't know she was dreaming when she found herself wading through a river of blood.
Children were crying. Bodies littered the ground, and the ones that still had faces begged for help. Smoke stung her eyes, her throat, as she stumbled over the wounded. Too many, she thought frantically. Too many to save.
Hands snatched at her ankles, some no more than bones. They tripped her up until she was falling, falling into a deep, black crater piled with still more bodies. Stacked like cordwood, ripped and torn like broken dolls. Something was pulling her in, pulling her down until she was drowning in that sea of dead.
Gasping, whimpering, she clawed her way back, crawled frantically up the slippery side of the pit until her fingers were raw and bloody.
She was back in the smoke, crawling still, fighting to breathe, to clear her mind of panic so that she could do something. Do what needed to be done.
Someone was crying. Softly, secretly. Eve stumbled forward through the stinking, blinding mist. She saw the child, the little girl huddled on the ground, balled up, rocking herself for comfort as she wept.
"It's all right." She coughed her throat clear, knelt down, and pulled the girl into her arms. "We'll get out."
"There's no place to go." The little girl whispered in her ear. "We're already there."
"We're getting out." They had to get out, was all Eve could think. Terror was crawling over her skin like ants, crab claws of ice were scraping the inside of her belly. She dragged the child up and began to carry her through the smoke.
Their hearts thudded against each other's, hard and in unison. And the girl's fingers gripped like thin wires when voices slithered through the mist.
"I need a goddamn fix. Why the hell isn't there money for a goddamn fix?"
