Doomsday Warrior 08 - American Glory by Ryder Stacy Read Free Book Online

erupted into the air, and over Killov and the officers.
    Killov whipped the wires out of the twitching arm as it was obvious even to him in his drug-cooked madness that the thing that had been Kraskow was dead. The KGB leader looked around with the face of a rat that had just feasted on blood until its stomach is bloated and heavy, its face twitching.
    “This is the way of pain. This is the law beyond laws. My law. You all understand, don’t you?” He surveyed them one by one, checking for weaknesses, flaws, dangers. It was all part of Killov’s chess game with those around him. Playing with their minds, exposing them to his bloody rituals and photographing their reactions in his memory for future reference.
    “Yes, you understand. I can see it in your eyes.” A radio watch beeped on Killov’s wrist as a voice announced: “Excellency, the military council awaits your command at the War Room.”
    “Yes, perfect. Perfect timing,” Killov responded, smiling indulgently at the officers. Murder always put him in a good mood. “I’m coming.” Without brushing his clothes free of the red remains of Kraskow, Killov exited the room, followed by his officers.
    Kraskow’s body lay slumped in the chair. Below the waist the mess of a man looked normal enough, but above . . . the severed stump, the head virtually gone. Above the shoulders just the neck, the front of the jaw remained—and oddly, the lower portion of one lip set in a slight downturned expression of sadness. It looked like an abstract statue, as if it had been made out of clean, carved stone instead of human flesh and bone. A sculpture depicting the ultimate flaw of the human character: That there was nothing man wouldn’t do to his fellow man.

Four
    R ockson awoke, his head splitting like someone had just been chopping logs on it. Something was ringing loudly nearby. His watch—it was time for the meeting. Christ. He sat up and his skull felt like it was on fire. Every motion set his backbone into paroxysms of pain. Sometimes it was like that when he used the powers the Glowers had shown him. There was beauty in it, incredible beauty and understanding. But it took something out of him as well. He was not a Glower. Perhaps these headaches were a warning sign telling him to stop.
    But by the time he was dressed and had splashed some water on his half-closed eyes, he felt slightly more human. He headed out the door and down the ramp system several levels to the Council Chamber. The meeting hall for the civilian and military leaders of Century City had been badly damaged in the neutron bomb attack of the subterranean city. But though the walls and much of the more ornate carvings that had been installed over the years had been carted away, the large oval-shaped auditorium was, if not beautiful, at least functional. Rock could see that the meeting had not yet really started as delegates marched around the chamber, cajoling and currying favor with their allies and enemies for whatever votes might be forthcoming. He started down the center aisle toward the podium and President Langford, who was sitting down, still not looking like something you’d stick in the window, when he saw Kim wave and start up toward him. But as she reached up to kiss him, Rockson saw another figure rushing up the aisle with a none-too-pleased expression on her perfect face. Rona Wallender.
    “Pardon me, dear,” she said icily to Kim, who looked up with a startled expression. “Might I give a hug from the Century City Welcome-The-Boys-Home Committee?” Rock, ready to take on a razor-snouted polar bear or Red battalion at a moment’s notice, hadn’t the slightest idea how to handle the situation—and just let his eyes roll up and his arms hang at his sides. The two women he loved—together in the same place. Somehow he had always known it was going to happen, but like earthquakes or volcanos, you don’t look for them—they find you.
    Rona pulled away from Rockson, smacking her