MirrorWorld

The plane’s sharp, downward sloping nose makes it easy to identify. The Concorde is the fastest passenger plane to have every crisscrossed the Atlantic. It was decommissioned after a few well-publicized crashes and more than a few complaints about the sonic boom generated when the plane breaks the sound barrier, tearing through the sky at Mach 2, more than twice the speed of the fastest troop transport.

Ten minutes later, we’re in the air, cruising at 1500 miles per hour and escorted through the FAA-emptied skies by three F-18s. Our man at the CIA is getting things done, and quietly. Lyons will have no idea we’re coming.

I spend part of the three-hour flight catching up on global news, which is dramatically grim. The way global events are being presented leaves little doubt that a nuclear holocaust is imminent; the government is days, if not hours, from being overthrown; and better make friends with your gun-carrying neighbors because militia frontier life is the only hope for survival in the soon-to-be nuclear wasteland. For once, all the drama is justified. Cities are imploding, the violence chaotic and without reason. Militaries are still largely under control, but there are troop movements on the borders of too many countries to count. The Dread need to be stopped through whatever means necessary, meaning there is a chance that Lyons’s aggressive option is justified. It is, after all, a proven tactic. If Maya is safe and her father really has a way to remove the Dread threat from our world, then I hope he succeeds. And when he’s done, he’ll answer for Winters.

Violence has escalated out of control in major cities around the world, and tensions between nations are reaching the point where a few navies and air forces have skirmished, leaving nearly two hundred dead and a Japanese maritime self-defense force destroyer limping back to port, courtesy of the Chinese. If it weren’t for the trouble brewing in the major cities of most nations, I think the world would have already rushed headlong into war. The threat of civil war seems to be the only thing tempering militaries, just in case they’re needed at home. Alliances are breaking down as paranoia runs rampant. An every-man-for-himself mentality has taken hold of governments.

It’s a brilliant strategy. No one outside Neuro would even think to consider the real cause of all this chaos. People are afraid and, like good mammals, are focused solely on the clear and present dangers, rather than the ones lurking just beyond perception. All the Dread need to do is pull their influence from one area and apply it to another. Send the rioters home, and the world goes to war. Turn government attention inward, and the riots become civil war. Maybe they’ll do all of the above?

Allenby thinks that the only way out of this for the human race is for the Dread to back off. I’m not totally convinced, and the memories of what they took from me and how they did it fuel a deeply personal desire for vengeance.

When I’m not watching the news, I’m remembering.

This isn’t my first trip to New Orleans. In a cruel irony, the city is where Maya and I spent our honeymoon. Not the usual place for a pair of newlyweds, but we both like the food, music, and atmosphere. We spent two weeks exploring the bayou, the city, and the culture. When the memory returned, it felt like recapturing some of the happiest days of my life … a life I want returned.

My childhood is almost a complete picture, much of it fading back to the recesses of my mind. My years as a young man are spotty, but I remember my training and a good number of special ops missions, and CIA … assignments. More recent memories are fewer, but several early years of my life with Maya and Simon are nearly complete. Each new memory — a birthday, anniversary, quiet night at home — stabs a fresh pang of sadness into my gut. But the knowledge that my sweet boy was brutally slain by his own mother’s forced hand transmogrifies grief into rage.

And I welcome it.

I’m going to need it. The memory of what the Dread can do, the kind of fear they can push into a human mind, is still fresh. But anger, I’ve learned, is one of the best ways to overcome fear. And right now, I’ve got anger to spare.

The most recent years of my life, a year ago, are still full of holes, some small, others gaping. I decide not to worry about them. My path is already set and they’ll come in time, if I survive.

Allenby pulls my eyes away from the TV, showing what appears to be a vicious gang fight, but is actually the British Parliament. I point to the small screen mounted to the seat in front of me. “Have you seen this?”

She glances at the screen but seems almost uninterested. Her downturned lips hint at grim news. “What is it?”

“I’ve just got word,” she says, motioning for me to move over. I do, and she slumps into the seat beside me, wincing from the effort of sitting down. “The president has given Russia an ultimatum.”