Shadow of the giant

them
that God would teach them how to destroy their enemy, using the forces of
nature. His prime example was the way God used a flood of the Red Sea to
destroy Pharaoh's chariots.
    The little red flags were the highwater mark.
    Han Tzu gave the order for the dam to be blown up. It would
take the wall of water forty minutes to reach the Russian army and destroy it.
     
     
    The Armenian soldiers had achieved all their objectives.
They had forced a panicky Iranian government to demand the recall of their
troops from India. Soon an overwhelming force would arrive and they would all
be lost.
    They thought, when the black choppers came flying low over
the city, that their time had come.
    Instead, the soldiers that emerged from the choppers were
Thais in the uniform of the FPE. The original strike force trained by Bean and
led in so many raids by him or Suriyawong.
    Then Bean himself stepped out of the chopper. "Sorry
I'm late," he said.
    Within minutes, the FPE troops had secured the perimeter and
the Armenian troops were embarking on the choppers. "You're going to be
taking the long way home," one of the Thais said, laughing.
    Bean made a big deal about how he was going to go down the
hill to see how things were going with the forward defense. The Armenians
watched as Bean ducked to go through the door of a half-bombed-out building. A
few moments later, the building blew up. Nothing left standing. No walls, no
chimney. And no Bean.
    The chopper took off then. The Armenians were so happy to
have been rescued that it was hard to remember the terrible news they were
going to have to take to Petra Arkanian. Her husband was dead. They'd seen it.
There was no way anyone in that building could have survived.
     
     
     
    23
     
    COLONIST
     
     
    From: BlackDog%[email protected]
    To: Graff%[email protected]
    Encrypted using code: *******
    Decrypted using code: *********
    Re: Vlad's farewell message
     
    Why I'm writing to you from hiding should be obvious; I'll
give you the detailed story at a later date.
     
    I want to take you up on your invitation, if it's still
open. I learned recently that while I'm a real whiz at military strategy, I'm a
dimwit about what motivates my own people—even those I thought were closest to
me. For instance, who would have guessed that they would hate a modernizing,
consensus-building black African Caliph a lot more than they hated a
dictatorial, idolatrous, immodest Hindu woman?
     
    I was going to simply disappear from history, and was
feeling quite sorry for myself in my exile, while grieving for a dear friend
who gave his life to save mine in Hyderabad, when I realized that the news
reports that endlessly replayed Vlad's message were showing me what I needed to
do.
     
    So I've made arrangements to make a vid inside a nearby
mosque. In a country where I'll be safe showing my face, so don't worry. I'm
not going to let this one be released through you or Peter—that would discredit
it immediately. It's going to move out through Muslim channels only.
     
    The thing I realized is this: I may have lost the support of
the military, but I'm still Caliph. It's not just a political office, it's also
a religious one. And not one of those clowns has the authority to depose me.
     
    Meanwhile, I know now what they called me behind my back.
"Black dog." They're going to hear those words back from me, you can
be sure.
     
    When the vid is released, then I'll let you know where I am.
If you're still willing to take me.
     
     
    Randi watched the news reports avidly. It seemed so hopeful
at first, when they heard that Julian Delphiki had been killed in Iran. Maybe
the enemies hunting her baby would be crushed, and she'd be able to come out in
the open and proclaim that she was carrying Achilles's son and heir.
    But then she realized: the evil in this world would not die
just because a few of Achilles's enemies were killed or defeated. They had done
too good a job of demonizing him. If they knew who her son was, he would at
least be scrutinized and tested constantly; at worst, they'd take him away from
her. Or kill him. They'd stop at nothing to erase Achilles's legacy from the
earth.
    Randi stood by her son's little traveling bed in the former
motel room that now was as cheap a one-room hotplate apartment as northern
Virginia offered. A traveling bed was all he needed. He was so small.
    His birth had taken her by surprise. Months too early. And
he came so fast. She couldn't get to a hospital. Not