“What will you do, if you lose?” asked one of the Wetterau counts. Mike wasn’t sure of his name.
Which didn’t matter, really, since his reply was addressed to all of them. Coming with a grin that would have earned a tiger’s approval.
“I’ll be keeping an eye on you, that’s what. Have no fear, gentlemen. You’ll probably have your moment of relaxation. But you won’t be able to relax that much.”
He leaned back in his chair, planted his hands firmly on the armrests, and allowed the grin to fade away. The rest would be dignitas.
“In general, the principle is called ‘balance of power.’ It’s usually applied to political structure, but it applies across the board. Do not forget—not for a minute—that although I probably won’t get reelected prime minister, Ed Piazza will carry East Virginia in a landslide. And so will whoever we decide to run in Magdeburg. Do not forget—not for a second—that while the armed forces will now be directly under Gustav Adolf’s authority, with Torstensson in command, that: first, neither the Navy nor the Air Force can do anything without the willing cooperation of my people; and that, second, Torstensson’s new army will be made up primarily of volunteer regiments. Most of whom, as I’m sure you know, will be organized and recruited by the Committees of Correspondence.”
He allowed a little silence, so they could absorb the point. The eight former princes did not actually swallow. But they did look very thoughtful.
“Then,” he continued, “there’s the economic and financial side of the balance of power. Do not—”
He broke off, hearing a little sound behind him. When he turned in his chair, he saw Admiral Simpson standing in the doorway. His face was very pale, and he was clutching a sheet of paper in his hands. Mike recognized it as the form used by the radio operators.
“Excuse me, gentlemen, I need to attend to something.” He rose, in as unhurried a manner as he could manage, and strode to the door. Then, taking Simpson by the arm, drew him into the hallway.
“What’s wrong, John?”
Simpson shook his head. The gesture had a strange, brittle quality, as if the man were afraid he might break.
“Nothing,” he whispered. “We just got a message from Luebeck. A courier brought it over here immediately. Gustav Adolf got a message himself, earlier today. From King Christian of Denmark. The Danes—it seems—oh, Jesus—”
Tears were starting to leak from Simpson’s eyes. Mike was astonished. He hadn’t thought the man could cry.
“He’s alive, Mike,” Simpson whispered. “He—” Now he broke down, in the complete manner that a man will, who has no idea how to do it. Mike had his arms around him, holding him up.
From the other end of the hallway, leading into the main ballroom, Mike could hear a rising swell of sound. Suddenly, he realized that was the sound of a crowd breaking into celebration. A wild hope came to him.
“Eddie,” Simpson choked out. “Lieutenant Cantrell, I mean.” Then, taking shaky control of himself, lifted his head and gazed at the opposite wall. “God knows how, but he must have gotten off the boat before it hit. The Danes were all over the area, picking up their own, and they fished him out too. He was badly hurt—lost a leg, they say, or part of it—but he came through it. He’s conscious again.”
He swallowed, visibly trying to regain his composure. “Hypothermia would have been a blessing to him, actually. Kept the blood loss to a minimum. How in hell he survived the impact on the water, though—at that speed . . .”
Despite his own swelling heart, Mike forced himself to think. Coldly and clearly.
“John . . . Look, I hate to raise this. But is there any chance—”
“A Danish subterfuge? A trick?” Suddenly, Simpson started laughing. The laughter, like the earlier weeping, had a semi-hysterical quality to it. Again, as if the man who laughed had no real experience at it. Or, at least, none for many years.
“Not a chance!” he cried, holding up the message slip. “No, it’s Eddie all right. Can’t possibly be a Danish ploy. He’s already pissed off the king of Denmark. Apparently he lectured Christian on something called the Geneva Convention and refused to tell him anything except his name, rank, and serial number.”