“If he could get them through to the Octagon without major collateral damage, yes,” McQueen said. “I think he’d use them in a heartbeat under those circumstances. But as long as the grid is up, he’s not going to get through it with anything short of a saturation strike, and that would rip hell out of the entire city. After what happened last time, I don’t think he’ll dare take that chance. Our isolated neighborhood, yes; that he’d nuke. But not the city in general. After all, it won’t do him any good to kill all of us if the way he does it outrages the rest of the Fleet so badly that they’ll turn on him regardless of what his SS goons do. And it would, you know, Ivan.”

Bukato grunted. The sound could have indicated disagreement, but it didn’t. No one could be absolutely certain how the People’s Navy would respond to yet another, even more massive use of nuclear weapons in Nouveau Paris, but the admiral was almost positive that McQueen was correct. Too many millions of civilians had already been killed, and with all of the Committee except Saint-Just in McQueen’s hands, someone in the Fleet was virtually certain to take his chances on survival if he could only get a clean shot at the StateSec commander if Saint-Just was stupid enough to destroy another huge chunk of the capital.

“All right,” McQueen said crisply. “So far, except for Capital Fleet and the fact that we didn’t get Pierre or Saint-Just in our initial strikes, things seem to be going pretty much to plan. Ivan, I want you and Commodore Tillotson to stay in close communication with Conflans and Yazov. Captain Rubin, you’re in charge of the Octagon defense grid. If they don’t have our transponder codes, then they don’t cross the threshold into our airspace, understood?”

“Understood, Ma’am,” Rubin replied grimly.

“Major Adams, you’re in charge of coordinating our garrison units with the grid. Stay close to Captain Rubin and see to it that your man-portable air defense units are put in the best places to back up the grid.”

“Aye, Ma’am!” the Marine major barked.

“Ivan,” McQueen turned back to Bukato, “where did we stick Fontein?”

“We’ve got him under guard in your office, Ma’am.”

“My, how appropriate,” McQueen murmured, and even here, even now, one or two people surprised themselves by laughing aloud at her wicked smile. She grinned back at them, then gave her head a little toss. “I think we can safely say that friend Erasmus is a realist and a practical man,” she told Bukato. “He really does support the Revolution, but once he knows Pierre is gone, I suspect that we can swing him over to our side if we can convince him that Saint-Just is going down, too. Or at least into pretending that he’s come over to our side, which would be almost as good in the short term. If I can talk him into endorsing our broadcasts, we should be able to split StateSec between him and Saint-Just. At least, it would certainly hamper Saint-Just’s ability to deploy his damned intervention battalions!”

“I can’t fault that, Ma’am,” Bukato said, “but I’m afraid he may be just a bit harder to turn than that.”

“You may be right,” she replied much more grimly. “On the other hand, if I screw the muzzle of a pulser far enough into his ear, I think I can convince him to follow me anywhere.”

She smiled at her followers again, and this time there was no humor at all in her expression.

Oscar Saint-Just’s habitually expressionless face was carved granite as he sat in the office just off his emergency HQ and listened to the latest reports.

“Sir, the troops are getting worried!” a citizen brigadier half-blurted as he burst into the Citizen Secretary’s office. “They’re hearing rumors that the Citizen Chairman is—well—”

Saint-Just turned his head, and the panicky report slithered to a sudden stop as the citizen brigadier quailed before those icy, basilisk eyes. The officer swallowed hard, and Saint-Just let him sweat for perhaps fifteen seconds while he held him pinned under his pitiless gaze. Then he spoke, very coldly and precisely.

“The troops will do what they’re told to do, Citizen Brigadier. As will their officers. All of their officers. We are now operating under Case Horatius. You will so inform all unit commanders, and you will also inform them that any measures of summary justice they may feel are necessary are approved in advance. Is that clear?”

“Y-Yes, Sir,” the citizen brigadier said quickly. He turned on his heel and hurried out of the office even more rapidly than he had entered it, and Saint-Just permitted himself a faint, bleak, death’s head grin. The citizen brigadier was an idiot if he hadn’t already figured out that Case Horatius was in effect. Although, in fairness, it might be shock rather than stupidity, for Esther McQueen had managed to take them all by surprise… again.

Saint-Just closed out the background chatter of combat reports and frantic requests for orders and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. What in God’s name had kicked the woman off now? Surely she had to have realized Rob wasn’t about to have her shot before he knew that the Manties and their allies really were on the ropes! Was it simply that she’d hoped to achieve surprise? If so, she’d succeeded, but for all the ferocious efficiency with which the first stage of her coup had been executed, it was obvious to Saint-Just that the follow-up stages were far less solid.

Not that they have to be all that solid, he admitted grimly to himself. The bitch got Rob. A fresh pain of purely personal anguish stabbed at him, and he suppressed it sternly. There was no time for that. Not now. And she’s got all the rest of the Committee in the Octagon with her. If she can get them to sign off on her actions, then—

A buzzer sounded the distinctive signal which informed him that the communication staff manning the secret, hidden command center which Tsakakis and Citizen Captain Russell had hustled him off to had just picked up a transmission they felt had sufficient priority to interrupt whatever else he might be doing. He grimaced at the thought of fresh tidings of still more disaster, but he also lowered his hands and reached out to stab one of the keys on his communications panel. The combat chatter vanished instantly, and his mouth tightened as Esther McQueen’s voice replaced it.

“To all loyal members of the People’s military! This is Citizen Secretary of War McQueen. The Revolution has been betrayed! I have received positive confirmation that Citizen Chairman Pierre has been murdered—murdered by his own State Security ‘bodyguards’ at the direct orders of Oscar Saint-Just! The reports available to me are still unclear as to what could have prompted the Secretary for State Security to commit this heinous crime, but the simultaneous attempt to take myself and all other members of the Committee into custody clearly indicates the existence of a far-reaching and dangerous organization of traitors within State Security. I call upon all loyal members of StateSec to remember that your oaths of loyalty are to the Revolution, the Committee, and to the Citizen Chairman, and not to the personal ambition of a man who has betrayed all of them! I call upon you to resist his illegal orders and his treasonous attempt to seize complete, personal power from the legitimately designated organs of government. Refuse to assist him in this despicable act of treachery and betrayal!

“To the regular branches of the People’s military, I say this. State Security is not your enemy! Only those individuals within it who choose to serve the purposes of a would-be tyrant and dictator are your foes! As you have so valiantly defended the People and the Revolution against outside enemies, so now you must defend them against internal enemies—enemies who are far more deadly than the Manticorans and their puppets because they strike from the shadows like assassins. I call upon you to honor your oath to the service of the People and the Committee of Public Safety!