Chosen of the Valkyries (Twilight Of The Gods Book 2) Read Online Free Page B

he wouldn't be kept for long, but Washington - and London - operated on their own timescale.  He might be expected to remain overnight, if there was a need for further debriefing, or he might just be ordered back to Berlin within the hour.  But there was no way to be sure.
     
    “Get a nap, if you can,” he advised.  “I have no idea when we’ll be leaving.”
     
    He rose to his feet and headed for the hatch.  The ground crew, working with commendable speed, had already pushed a mobile staircase against the plane, allowing him to descend to the ground.  He couldn't help noticing that security had been doubled or tripled; armed soldiers patrolled the fence, backed up by armoured cars, while Rapier missile launchers had been scattered around the airfield.  It had been years since Britain had faced a terrorist threat, since the last remnants of the IRA had been crushed or convinced to lay down their arms, but it was evident that no one was taking chances.  A strike at RAF Fairford could decapitate two governments at once.
     
    “This way, sir,” a young man said.  He wore a black suit and tie, rather than a uniform, but he couldn't hide his military training.  “We have to get you through security.”
     
    Andrew nodded, unsurprised, as he was led into the nearest building.  The guards were polite, but firm; they searched him thoroughly, examined everything in his pocket with cynical eyes and finally waved him through.  Andrew was tempted to make a crack about one of them buying him dinner afterwards, but thought better of it before he could open his mouth.  The guards probably wouldn't find it very funny.
     
    “This is your badge,” his escort said, once Andrew was passed through the gate.  “You are scheduled to enter the main room in thirty minutes.  Do you want to take a shower and freshen up before then?”
     
    “Yes, please,” Andrew said.  He felt grimy, even though the flight hadn't taken more than three hours.  “And is there coffee?”
     
    “There are gallons of coffee,” his escort assured him.  “I’ll have some brought into the room for you.”
     
    Thirty minutes later, feeling much better, Andrew was escorted into a comfortable conference room.  He stiffened, automatically, as President John Anderson rose to his feet, hastily snapping out a salute.  Beside the President, Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher nodded politely as Andrew was shown to a chair.  There was no one else in the room, but Andrew would have been surprised if the meeting wasn't being recorded.  The government - both governments - would want a solid record of just what had been said, even if the recordings never saw the light of day.
     
    “Mr. Barton,” Anderson said.  “Thank you for coming.”
     
    “Thank you, Mr. President,” Andrew said.
     
    He took a moment to study them both as an aide brought two cups of coffee and one of tea, placing them on the table.  They made an odd pair.  President Anderson looked more like a schoolteacher than a President, while Prime Minister Thatcher reminded him of one of the fearsome old biddies who’d dominated his hometown.  The Reich’s propaganda machine had turned her into a monster, even to the point of insisting she was really a man in drag.  They’d had some problems coming to terms with female politicians, Andrew recalled; they’d never really seen women as anything more than mothers, daughters and wives. 
     
    And now a young girl started a movement that sundered the Reich , Andrew thought, will they change their attitudes?
     
    “This is not a formal debriefing,” Anderson said, once the aide had retreated.  “We would merely like your impression of the current situation.”
     
    Andrew took a breath.  “At last report” - he wasn't going to go into specifics, not when the recording wouldn't be kept in the US - “the provisional government has a reasonably firm grip on Germany Prime, but very limited control outside it.  Germany North