Part I

Chapter 1

April 1986

The White House Situation Room

Only a few bulbs were lit, leaving part of the conference table in shadows. Waving the defense secretary—a retired four-star general—back to his chair, President Temple strode over, followed by the chief of staff.

“Did we get him?” asked Temple, already knowing the answer. If Gaddafi, the Libyan dictator, had been killed, the message would have reached the White House long before the messenger.

“Sorry, sir,” the general said. “Malta appears to have warned him.”

Unperturbed, Temple nodded and took his seat. Taking Gaddafi’s life was not the objective of the operation, after all.

Three senior military officers marched in through the door, their footsteps muffled by the deep carpet. Unlike the others in the room who were dressed casually in sweats and tees, the new arrivals were in service uniforms. Manacled to the wrist of the one in the middle was a titanium case, which he laid in front of the president. One of his mates uncuffed him, and the other unlocked the case to take a videotape out.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” said the general.

There were a few more hours until dawn. Temple sipped sweet, creamy coffee and settled back in his chair to watch F-111 bombers dropping laser-guided devices on the Tripoli airfield, blowing apart the planes on the tarmac. Grainy images from the gun cameras flickered on the screen. Deadly flashes lit up dark-blue sky, and deafening sound waves blasted through the air, leaving the buildings in the vicinity shaking. Libyan gunmen scrambled to respond with surface-to-air missiles, but most of their shots went wildly off the mark.

The general reported, “One bomber has not made it back to the base. And we won’t get another chance at taking out Gaddafi anytime soon. Once the news breaks, the press will be all over it. There will be questions on whether the killing of two American tourists by Gaddafi’s men was worth all the casualties from the bombing.”

The chief of staff argued, “Getting Gaddafi would have been the icing on the cake, but we didn’t go there to kill him. Our only purpose was to punish him for the mistake of taking American lives. The American president has that responsibility. Also, the deaths of those two tourists were hardly the sole reason. The Gaddafi government has been accused of many crimes.”

There was another objective to the mission, one neither the general nor the chief knew, a secret Temple never jotted down in his journal. By the time he started in the Oval Office at the age of seventy-four, he’d already collected many such secrets. In only a few months, he’d complete his two terms as president, leaving the White House as an eighty-two-year-old man with even more stories which could never be revealed to another person. They’d go with him to his grave, including this last-ditch attempt at avoiding what he knew he must eventually do.

Shrugging, the general said to the chief of staff, “Unfortunately, the global media will feel no urge to inform the public about the rest of the crimes committed by Gaddafi’s supporters. It’s significantly more sensational to create a David and Goliath story where the evil Americans attack a smaller nation over oil.”

“Set up a press conference,” Temple spoke. “I want the public to hear directly from me.”

The three military officers reversed procedure and left with the tape. Excusing himself to the president, the general followed them into the hallway, as did the chief of staff. The door closed, leaving silence in the situation room. Temple stood, hand in his pocket, and flipped through the papers on the table.

From the shadows in the back, a familiar voice asked, “The crew of the missing aircraft?”

Temple responded, “The pilot and the weapons officer.”

“Two good men sacrificed.” Harry moved to the pool of light.

The president studied his former protégé. The seventeen-year-old boy who’d jumped off a cliff to escape Gaddafi’s border patrol had grown into a man, well-muscled to suit his tall stature, his dark hair now cut short. The intensity of his dark gaze remained the same. With an inward smile, Temple admitted though his own blue irises and average height hadn’t changed, his hair was for a long while almost completely salt with very little pepper. Time… it decayed appearances, equations. Years ago, Petty Officer Harry Sheppard would’ve saluted and nodded an affirmative to Temple’s plans. Now, the SEAL-turned-commodities broker looked the commander in chief in the eye and challenged his decisions.

Keeping his voice mild, the president asked, “You don’t believe the bombing was for a worthy cause? Seems you have forgotten there were people in the Libyan government who worked with Sanders.” The oil tycoon who arranged multiple attacks on a teenaged Harry might have been hauled off to prison months ago, but his former friends still clung to their own fiefdoms. Gaddafi, the Libyan strongman, was one such old pal.

“I’ve forgotten nothing,” Harry said. “But if we were planning to punish Gaddafi, why inform Malta beforehand?”

Temple blinked. Harry recognized what the general didn’t, what the Maltese government didn’t. The leak of the plan’s details came from the Oval Office. The American president allowed Gaddafi to escape. The protégé understood his mentor as well as the other way around. It was another of Temple’s miscalculations in a long line of similar errors where Harry Sheppard was concerned.

In measured tones, Harry continued, “Somehow forcing the criminal who holds power in Libya to see the error of his ways would have been a meaningful endeavor. Failing that, to kill him. What was the objective of tonight’s mission? A warning to stay clear of American interests followed by a promise to turn a blind eye to his systematic elimination of political enemies? All to keep in place a thug you believe you can control.”

Go on, Harry, urged Temple. Let’s see if you manage to get to the bottom of why I called you here. The blatant hostility in Harry’s eyes didn’t suggest he’d recognized the air raid on their common enemy as a peacemaking attempt. The president sighed. “Those are the words of an idealist.” He waved away Harry’s sudden objection. “You’re familiar enough with global politics to know we can’t always pick our partners.”

“I agree with you to some extent. What I don’t understand is the kind of game we’re playing. What is your intention, Mr. President?”

“Stability, peace, prosperity. Aren’t these good enough goals?”

“Do you honestly believe keeping Gaddafi in place will help the world get there?” asked Harry. “He will continue his crimes toward his own people, and he will eventually turn on us.”

“Perhaps,” admitted Temple. “Or perhaps this will buy us time to devise another plan for Libya. A better ruler.”

“Better ruler?” Harry asked, a note of mockery in his tone. “Or someone you imagine you can control better?”

Like Lilah… Harry didn’t say it, didn’t need to say it. Sanders was gone, replaced by Lilah. The replacement possessed every quality Temple looked for in a future leader. Only, she refused to be guided by the elders who got her where she was. Harry’s support let her stay in the position. Two idealists—neither yet thirty—were now more or less in charge of the oil sector. In their hands was the power to ruin entire economies. One thoughtless decision, one offhand remark, could lead to wars, to utter chaos. Temple briefly closed his eyes. He didn’t dare sleep at night, pondering all the calamities which could result, knowing he set them in motion.

When Temple didn’t respond, Harry continued, “You know Gaddafi will get your threat… if he doesn’t do what he’s told, he’ll be replaced. There’s a good chance he’ll choose to cooperate. That would make the sacrifice of the troops’ lives worthwhile to you… not to mention the casualties on the Libyan side. The American public doesn’t know any of it yet, but someone will inevitably blab. The public might not condone what you did. Hence, the attempt to preempt unwanted interpretations of your motives by speaking directly to the nation. Who will call you out on it? Who will dare confront the commander in chief about the deaths of two young people who signed up to serve their country?”

“Harry, you of all people should know authority confers responsibilities on an individual, on institutions.” The White House symbolized the pinnacle of might, but the real struggle for its occupant began when he accepted the mantle of command. He became a willing prisoner to the oath he swore, his entire existence chained to the weighty words. No matter how long the war, how brutal the battle, how painful the loss of life, a principled leader could not quit. “You were a Navy SEAL… decorated veteran. You’re a business leader whose actions can make or break the lives of millions. You used to understand the idea of sacrifice, the cost of the blood shed on your orders. You should know the real meaning of power lies in the burden it brings.”

“I didn’t begin life with power, Mr. President,” reminded Harry. “I had no control over things happening to me, let alone to others. The nation chose to bestow me with extraordinary training and incredible trust. The trident was an honor granted me by the American people. I needed… will always need to work to make myself worthy of it. My mission is to serve the citizens of this country and humanity at large. I will follow the same principles I swore to defend. I’ve made my share of mistakes, been knocked down on my backside here and there, but the navy expects me to haul myself up. I will do my duty toward my fellow man or die trying. That is the true meaning of power to me.”

Temple contemplated his former protégé. No… whatever the overtures of peace offered, Harry would not relent. Nor would Lilah. Pity, the president thought. There was so much they could’ve done together.

It was time… there was a weapon Temple had hoped he would never have to use, a lethal chess piece he kept waiting in the wings for years. The pawn would soon find himself the most important piece of the game. He would take out Harry Sheppard.

“The navy would expect you to know this as well,” Temple said, keeping his tone smooth. “From the day mankind started forming military orders, knights have been required to follow the directives of their superiors in battle. Anyone who serves in the armed forces accepts the possibility he might one day be called upon to willingly sacrifice his life. The commander in chief has the right and the obligation to order any of his men to death for the good of the nation. Remember it well, Petty Officer Sheppard.”

Chapter 2

Later in the week

New York, New York

The doors of the metro train swished open, and Harry joined the crowd in a rush to get to their destinations… other men and women in suits on their way to work, noisy teenagers in oversized tees with bookbags on their shoulders, a couple of Asian women, one of them heavily pregnant. Puddles of slush dotted the platform and the stairs as commuters hurried in from the outside, carrying the unseasonal snow flurries which hit the city in the early hours of the morning. Paying little heed to any of it, Harry strode along and mulled the reason behind Temple’s invitation to listen in on the Libya debriefing.

The timing was all wrong for the president to attempt another assassination. He and his stepbrother—Godwin Kingsley—were surely aware Harry and Lilah had cottoned on to their plans. The president and former justice would worry she’d blame them even if Harry died of a random flu. Lilah would retaliate by walking out of the alliance. The fledgling network would thus be destroyed, something Temple wouldn’t want. It was the reason Harry could go around sans security for the moment, enjoying the freedom of being one of the crowd. So why—

Setting the walls and pillars of the platform vibrating, the train rumbled out before Harry was halfway up the stairs. “Excuse me,” said a thickly accented female voice from behind, the annoyed tone yanking him out of his thoughts. When he halted and turned, he found one of the Asian women glaring at a burka-clad figure stomping her way up. “Be careful, please,” the Asian lady snapped at the rude commuter and extended a protective arm across her pregnant companion. “You almost knocked my sister down.”

The woman in the all-enveloping burka didn’t offer apologies, but she did slow by the time she got to Harry. The lady was clearly tall and hefty. Still, he wouldn’t have been as easy to shove aside.

At the top of the stairs, Harry stopped for a few minutes to buy coffee and a sugared donut from the vending cart, exchanging pleasantries in Arabic with the Iraqi owner who’d occupied the spot for years now. Rain and flurries splattered on Harry’s hair and business suit, but he declined the use of the vendor’s umbrella. The walk to work was short, and a little water wasn’t going to hurt. Chattering masses continued to flow in all directions. By the time lights changed at the intersection, and buses and cars vroomed down the street, Harry was again on his way to the Gateway office in World Trade Center.

Keeping to the outer edge of the sidewalk to avoid the throng, he took a bite of the warm pastry. With the chatter and honks and rumbles all around, one shouted “Hey, mister!” shouldn’t have been audible, but there was an urgency in the words which made him whirl.

A heavy form rammed into him, black cotton flying all around. Harry’s unexpected one-eighty changing the trajectory of the collision, he didn’t immediately lose balance as he should’ve. His arms flailed. The coffee cup slipped from his grasp. An unsteady step backward on the wet pavement… a second step… honks, shouts, screams. Harry careened off the sidewalk, stumbling in an awkward dance on the road. A checker cab roared down in his direction, its fender zooming larger every nanosecond. Tires screeched. Barely a foot from his torso, the cab jerked to a stop.

“What the hell?” The cabbie poked his head out of the window. “I’m gonna call the cops on you, damn fool. Drunk and disorderly in the morning!”

Heart pounding with unpleasant speed, Harry held up a conciliatory hand. “Sorry. It was an—”

“He got pushed,” spat the same voice which called out the warning. The Asian woman from the train station shook her fist in the direction of the sidewalk. “Hurry, hurry, hurry… so careless… what if you got killed? Stupid person.”

When Harry peered to check who she was talking about, the rude burka-clad woman from the subway was disappearing down the street. There were a few curses and exclamations from the other pedestrians, but for the most part, the world hustled on without a second glance at the near accident. The cabbie, too, didn’t waste more time and drove off.

“Are you all right?” asked the pregnant sister.

“Yeah, thanks.” It took Harry another half hour to thank the ladies with donuts.

When he finally walked into his office, his secretary was ready with the pile of messages she wanted him to go over right away. Work kept coming. Contracts, irate partners who needed soothing, a minister who wanted a deal on oil supply to his small island nation… lunch was takeout Chinese at his desk. Through it all, the morning’s incident hovered around his mind’s edges.

“Harry,” called his father, tone concerned. Ryan Sheppard stood at the office door, hands tucked into his pockets. Behind him was Hector, the oldest of the Sheppard children. One glance was enough for most people to tell Ryan and Harry were father and son. Except of course for Ryan’s beard and the signs of aging. Blond and blue-eyed Hector took after their mother. Sophia Sheppard used to be an integral part of the company when it was first set up, cutting down on work only over the last couple of years. “Did you run into a problem this morning?” Ryan asked. “Some fellow is waiting for you with baklava. He wants to know if you’re okay after the near miss.”

In the lobby, Harry thanked the Iraqi vendor in effusive Arabic for sharing his personal stash of the sweet only because Harry once mentioned it was his favorite snack. Red-faced, the vendor admitted he’d never been inside the World Trade Center despite working a block away for many years. Harry took the man around, showing him the view from every window in the place.

“The best donuts in the city,” Harry proclaimed to his staff. Natasha, his secretary, swore she’d buy breakfast pastry from the Iraqi man’s cart every day.

Finally, after escorting the unexpected guest to the elevators, Harry returned to his office, only to find his father and brother still there.

“Done?” Ryan asked wryly before his expression turned grave. Hector was in the next chair. “About what happened… I thought we’d have room to breathe now that Sanders is out of the picture.”

Shutting the door, Harry shrugged. “It can’t be Sanders. What’s he going to do from prison?” He had no money, and none of his old friends even dared talk to him for fear of the authorities suspecting them of involvement in his criminal acts.

“True.” Ryan nodded. “Nothing else going on?”

“Like what?” Harry asked, noting the studiedly casual cadence of questioning.

“We want to make sure you’re not off on things we don’t know about,” Hector stated. “Some new shenanigans with Lilah and the Kingsleys.”

Harry blinked once and took another look at his brother’s face. Did Hector’s drinking problem now extend to work hours? But there was no flushing, no clumsiness. “Only the same old ‘shenanigans’ we all agreed to,” Harry said. “The business alliance.” Drunk or not, Hector hadn’t exactly cooperated with the plans thus far.

Ryan held up a pacifying hand. “We’re simply worried about your safety.”

Harry stared hard at his brother for a few more moments. “I’m fine. People don’t always look where they’re going is all.”

It took another couple of minutes for Ryan and Hector to leave. Harry swiveled his chair and stared out through the windows at the skyscrapers looming against blue-gray sky. Hector’s attitude… no, it wasn’t merely the brusque manner which kept Harry thinking about the close call the rest of the afternoon.

The force of the shove… the size of the woman… a lot could be hidden by a burka, including the gender of the person.

Shaking his head, Harry told himself to stop being paranoid. Rude people who happened to be in a hurry were not exactly unusual in New York City. Nor were plus-sized women who could deliver masculine-level shoves. Accident… that was it. Not a clumsy attempt at assassination, ordered by Temple.

Chapter 3

Later the same day

Elsewhere in the World Trade Center

The privacy shades were down, blocking anyone walking by the glass door to Lilah’s office from spotting her.

In the hallway, her brother-in-law—Victor Kingsley—was belting out Barry Manilow’s hit, “Copacabana.” A second later, the smoky baritone voice belonging to Alex—the third of the five Kingsley men—joined Victor’s.

Go, go, go, Lilah mentally urged. The night club awaits. She needed all of them out before phoning Harry. He’d returned intact from the White House visit, and she took her first relieved breath in two days. She knew the president wasn’t going to try anything just yet. Even so…

“Hey,” Victor called from the hallway. A moment later, a firm knock landed on Lilah’s door.

She bit back a huff and glanced at the clock. Like her, Harry had developed the habit of working late before heading to the gym. He’d still be in his office in five minutes, no family or staff around to overhear what was said on either end of the line. “Come on in,” Lilah said. The sooner she talked to the Kingsley brothers, the faster she could kick them out.

The door flung open, and Victor danced his way in, swinging his blazer around on a finger. Despite his giant form, the boxer/chef/company troubleshooter moved with grace. Behind him was Alex. Whether in jeans or in business clothes as right now, the thirty-two-year-old former sniper cut a striking figure. The Kingsley combo of light-brown curls and blue irises had given him a miss. Instead, genes from his mother’s side bestowed cognac eyes and dark hair. He was at least half a foot taller than Lilah’s five-eight.

“You haven’t changed,” Alex complained, his glance taking in the reddish-black skirt suit she’d worn all day. “Sabrina’s not gonna be happy if you don’t show up for the party.” The employees of Peter Kingsley Company were given juicy bonuses to celebrate the financial success of the last quarter. The New York staff and their significant others also got this night out at the club.

Lilah laughed. “Tell your wife you’ll be the one working late if I don’t have the numbers ready before you fly to Russia.”

It took her more than five minutes to shove the two men out and shut the door. Thank God her husband was spending the evening with his grandfather. Forget the fact she didn’t need him overhearing what she was about to say. The little interaction between her and his brothers could trigger—

The phone rang—her personal line. Grabbing the receiver, Lilah plonked herself into the leather chair. Before she could utter a greeting, Harry said, “Turn on CNN.”

Receiver cradled on her shoulder, she took her glasses from the desk drawer and picked up the remote. Across the room from her was a row of windows, privacy screens already drawn. The television sat to the far-right corner. The program opened with the president’s address to the nation on the events in Tripoli. Temple was of average height, not an imposing figure, but he was a presence when he so chose. The gravity in his eyes was reassuring to the world which had been gnawing its nails about the shelling of the Libyan capital by U.S. bombers. The image on the screen changed to damaged city streets, to destroyed buildings and burning vehicles and military patrols.

A few seconds later, Lilah murmured, “Tripoli…” The camera focused on a couple of structures which appeared intact. “I think I’ve been to that neighborhood.” Before the deaths of her parents on their way to the Paris vacation, she travelled frequently to Libya to visit the Sheppards. Dangling a glossy black pump on her toe, she asked, “Isn’t that the French embassy?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, his rich, deep tones low as though his mind was drifting through his memories of the town.

Lilah said with a watery laugh, “I hardly noticed anything the last time I came… too busy daydreaming.” About him—her best friend and childhood sweetheart.

Harry admitted, “So was I. Had the weekend all planned out, too.”

Both were blissfully ignorant of the destiny awaiting them. Neither knew Sanders’s mercenaries were plotting an abduction in retaliation for Harry’s father’s failure to sell his oil drilling company. They didn’t realize a retired American soldier lived in the mountains of Libya, a criminal who would brutally assault a sixteen-year-old girl while her friend was away.

Lilah bit her lip hard, yanking her thoughts out of dark recollections. “Which of our plans worked?” she asked. “All this… I’ll be thirty soon. So will you. Are you where you imagined you’d be by now? I thought I’d be working my way to being an appeals court judge in a few years. Instead…”

Delilah Sheppard was adopted by Andrew Barrons. Giving up her dreams of love and a legal career, she married Brad Kingsley, great-nephew to the American president. Thus, a coalition of businesses was formed, one big enough to bring down Sanders.

“Where would the world have been without those sacrifices?” Harry countered. “This alliance was our only option.”

“I suppose,” said Lilah, not bothering to conceal the thread of doubt in her husky voice. Almost seven years passed since Harry first told her about the scheme to dethrone Sanders. The frenetic campaign against their enemy, the constant presence of bodyguards, the media frenzy… it was over only a month ago. “Sanders is now under lock and key.”

“Moving on,” Harry said. “We’re also in a better position than before vis-à-vis the law.” The U.S. government had decided to stop prosecuting vertical integration—the same company owning A to Z of its own production process rather than relying on external partners. The proposed network would involve quite a bit of horizontal integration which was still illegal, so they would have to keep stock purchases low enough to stay out of trouble.

Barrons O & G would buy shares in other oil businesses all the way down the stream while the Peter Kingsley Company purchased stock in oil services outfits. The Sheppards’ company—Gateway—would focus on traders. Then, Delilah Sheppard Barrons Kingsley would direct each parent company involved to sell more stock to the Peter Kingsley Network, again keeping the sale just low enough to avoid governmental scrutiny. The small companies within the network would also integrate vertically within it. The alliance would work hard to persuade other businesses to cooperate, but they expected little resistance. Everyone knew the network was needed. Everyone knew the three companies in the core alliance were the best positioned to create such a network.

Harry wanted to look into renewable fuels as well… costs were prohibitive at the moment, but eventually, mankind’s ingenuity would make alternative sources of power workable. Humanity needed energy to survive, and the world wasn’t gonna stop using oil simply because of fear it might run out, but diversification of sources was important. Harry was talking to a couple of engineers about it. They were all hopeful renewables would lead to a cleaner environment and prove to be the key in the network’s plans to force peace between warring groups.

Whatever the kinds of fuels the businesses concerned themselves with, the end result would be a vast alliance of such companies, integrated horizontally and vertically. A web spanning the world. It would function as a quasi-democratic setup, with complaints about management evaluated by an elected board.

“Three phases,” Harry mused, “and we should be done.”

Victor Kingsley would kick off phase one, negotiating with companies based in the Americas and the Arctic. Once he was done, Lilah’s twin and Harry would turn their attention to Western Europe, Africa, and the Middle East. The third and final phase would be Alex’s—Russia and the Soviet bloc, Asia, and Australia. Only then would they be big enough that governments around the world wouldn’t dare do anything for fear of tanking the global economy. Only then could the alliance sign the charter making the network official.

“Thus, our cartel will be formed,” said Lilah.

“Stop calling it a cartel,” Harry chided. “The tabloids do it to make us sound like mobsters.”

“Okay, what would you call it?”

“An extrajudicial regulatory authority intended to ensure peaceful coexistence of businesses and uninterrupted supply of energy to the world,” Harry said loftily.

She laughed outright. “In other words, a cartel.”

“All right, call it what you want. Are you telling me it would have been better to leave Sanders as the de facto emperor of the sector?”

“No, of course not,” Lilah admitted, turning off the TV. “But what if Temple and Godwin’s plans worked? Remember Argentina.”

“I do,” Harry murmured. “I can’t let myself forget their faces.” The faces of the tribespeople who perished in the president’s attempt to eliminate the man standing in his way. The smoke, the fire, the screams… “If I’m not careful, if I don’t watch myself every moment…” Harry Sheppard would become another Jared Sanders, a brutal tyrant who stopped at nothing.

“It won’t happen again,” said Lilah. “You won’t let it. But Temple and Godwin knew how you would react to any mention of Sanders, and they played you.” After the failure of the attempt, the fire was blamed on Sanders. His protests to the contrary were dismissed as attempted revenge, and the innocents involved were given incentives to stay silent. None of the rest dared blurt the truth. The day the world realized what happened, they would all go down… Temple, Godwin, Harry, the Kingsleys… “Uh-huh… do you see why I call it a cartel? A bunch of people willing to kill, maim, and rob only for the sake of the imperial throne. The president and a former supreme court justice! And Brad—”

At the abrupt stop after the mention of her husband’s name, Harry asked, “Brad? What are you talking about?”

“I meant Brad is the CEO,” Lilah said smoothly. “But Mr. Temple wants Godwin to run things from behind the scenes.” Unfortunately for the two old men, Harry’s clout with Lilah’s husband and his brothers meant her recommendations usually carried the day. “So now, you’re in danger.”

“Lilah?” Harry called, the concern in his voice quite clear.

“What?”

There was a pause as though he was searching for the right words. “Things going all right with you and Brad?”

“I… of course,” said Lilah. Harry would know—or at least suspect—it was a lie. The snappishness in Brad’s tone at meetings… his sneers… her coolness toward him wouldn’t have been missed, either. It didn’t mean she wanted anyone asking about it. Especially not Harry. Anyway, things were looking up for her on the personal front. Earlier in the year, a conversation between her and Brad somehow drifted to where they saw themselves in the future. Babies… both were ready for kids. With the obstetrician giving the all-clear, they’d already started trying. Brad would know it meant sorting out the problems in their marriage. “We’re busy… so home life sometimes takes a back seat. But we’re making it work.”

“Glad to hear it,” Harry said. A beep interrupted their conversation. “Hold on a second. Another call… it’s probably Verity… I forgot about her message. Gimme a couple of minutes, and I’ll call you right back. We need to go over the Russian project.”

Lilah bit back a wince. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I want my dinner.”

“You’re welcome to pop by and share leftover Chinese.” The Sheppards’ family business, Gateway, Incorporated, and the Peter Kingsley Company both had offices in the South Tower of the World Trade Center as did Barrons O & G, owned by Andrew Barrons, Lilah’s brother-in-law. It would only take Lilah a couple of minutes to ride the elevator to Harry’s office. “I’ll have it heated up by the time you get here. It’s diced chicken with cashews.”

She said in a sing-song voice, “I have samosas waiting for me at home.”

“Your cook?”

“No, I found a new Indian restaurant.”

“You didn’t get me any?” he complained.

She snickered. “I’ll bring you some for lunch tomorrow if you promise me a chess game. I swear I’ll be gentle when I beat you.”

“Ha, ha,” Harry grumbled. “At least I’m not a sore loser like you.”

“Sore loser? You cheat! No one gets a royal flush every round in poker. It’s a statistical impossibility!”

“See what I mean?” Harry teased. “You simply don’t like admitting defeat. Sore, sore, sore.”

After almost a minute of laughing on the phone, she called, “Umm… Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Temple’s not going to admit defeat,” Lilah said.

“No,” Harry agreed. “There will be another attack.”

Before the Argentina episode, Temple made the mistake of simply trying to sideline Harry. This time, there would be no attempted sidelining. The president would make sure the obstacle in his way was one hundred percent dead, leaving Godwin Kingsley running the network from the shadows. The two men would not risk Harry making a comeback somehow.

“But it’s not the same as before when we didn’t know what he was up to,” continued Harry. “Temple knows by now we figured out his game. I’m sure he’s praying you don’t decide to walk out of the alliance.” She’d stuck around to get rid of Sanders. If she left now, there would be no way of circumventing the legal hurdles to integration on such a large scale. “You won’t walk out because we all know the alliance is needed. But if I were to die…”

Lilah would be out in a heartbeat. No way would she let the two criminals build the network through her.

“Temple will wait until after the network is official,” Harry concluded. At that point, Lilah quitting wouldn’t make a difference as no government could go after the structure without risking global economic collapse. Harry’s life would soon be forfeited, and Lilah would be left with an empty title.

“It’s hard for me to accept…” Lilah mused. “…I mean, if I were in Temple’s place… he’ll be eighty-two this year. Eighty-two! The same as Godwin. Temple has achieved so much. He has his legacy already. So does Godwin. Why would they then…”

“Power is hard to give up,” said Harry. “World history is dotted with such leaders. They do know they’ll die sooner rather than later, but they still cling to power. And they make sure it transfers to their progeny. In this case, to the parent company… Kingsley Corp.”

“I wish we could go to the FBI, the Interpol, someone… but who’ll believe us?” Lilah muttered grimly. They possessed no proof, merely a series of convenient coincidences. In fact, they were quite certain Temple wouldn’t order any eavesdropping on his enemies’ phones precisely because leaks from such snooping would carry more credibility than direct accusations from Harry and Lilah. All their lines were anyhow supposed to be secure, but the American president would make sure their conversations remained a secret.

She and Harry had also considered the idea of updating his family and talking to her twin brother about Temple. If one of them threatened to withdraw from the network, Temple would have to back off. Andrew Barrons—adoptive father to Lilah and her brother—was another possible ally in this fight against Temple and Godwin, but Andrew couldn’t be trusted not to be in cahoots with the president.

Harry argued against the idea of informing any of them. There was the fact anything Lilah said to Dan—her twin—would potentially endanger his life, too. The same went for the Sheppards. Besides, Dan and the Sheppards were not as invested in the alliance… they could follow through on their threat to destroy it.

“Our outlook hasn’t improved any,” brooded Harry. “The people who can both keep the network intact and stop Temple and Godwin won’t hear a word against them.”

With a sigh of frustration, she muttered, “The Kingsley grandsons themselves. Brad, Victor, and Alex.” Even the Argentina episode was assigned by the three men as betrayal exclusively by the oil scout who took Harry and Alex there. For the Kingsley brothers, their grandfather and his stepbrother remained blameless. The moment Harry or Lilah voiced any of their suspicions to the brothers, their alliance would be over. Harry wouldn’t let it happen.

“Then there’s our investigation,” Harry said. The one potential weapon was their covert probe into the peculiar chapter in Godwin Kingsley’s otherwise unblemished judicial career—the apparent cover-up of the untimely death of the girl his half-brother was dating.

“Still nothing from your detective?” she asked. No evidence of wrongdoing was found at all in a case which smelled rotten to the core. “How about picking the third option? We can simply stop the expansion. After all, we do have an alliance with a decent amount of say in the oil sector. If there is no network to fight over—just the three companies—Temple won’t have much reason to kill you.”

“I agree with you in principle. But once again… what happens when another tyrant pops up? What happens to the common man then? There will be no protection left.”

“Trust me… if it weren’t for the very question you just asked, I would’ve quit the minute Sanders got arrested. I’ve been so conflicted about it all. Here’s a question for you. What happens fifty or a hundred years from now? Will history call us tyrants, too?”

“Pompous princess,” he teased. “We’ll be lucky to get a footnote in some book no one will ever read. We’ll be forgotten within weeks of our deaths.”

“If Temple could possibly manage it, you would be dead within weeks,” Lilah snapped. “And you… you won’t let him win, either. Even if it costs you your life.”

“We have time until the network is complete,” Harry said.

“Time to do what?” she asked, desperately hoping he wouldn’t confirm her fears.

Harry sighed. “There’s this old quote about Abraham Lincoln. ‘Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.’ You already saw what Temple and Godwin did with the power they have. I don’t particularly care about winning, per se. We simply cannot afford to lose. The world cannot afford for us to lose. Time to do whatever it takes to keep you in charge, Lilah. It’s my duty. I will carry it out or die trying.”

The countdown began the day Sanders was hauled off to prison. Every paper signed by the alliance, every deal concluded, every hour which passed took them closer to the moment the network would be finalized. Each territory conquered by the new overlords dragged them to the moment Temple and Godwin would go on the attack. Harry Sheppard would launch his kamikaze strike against Lilah’s enemies. All of them would die, and she would be left alone, ruling an empire she didn’t want.