Meta:The Thirteenth (Excerpt)

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THE THIRTEENTH
The Twelth Book in the Vampire Huntress Legend™ Series by L. A. Banks.

The Armageddon is here, the Neteru Guardian team is backed into a corner--incorrectly blamed for an act of terrorism commited by the dark side. No way out, boxed in...

Excerpt:

Prologue

Bermuda – Seventy-two hours after the battle in Washington, DC… BBC World News has just learned that the U.S.S. Ronald Regan, one of the United States’ nine most significant super carriers, is en-route to the Atlantic Coast to take a position that will enable strategic air strikes on U.S. soil for the first time in military history.

The U.S.S. Ronald Reagan is a ninety-seven thousand ton, twenty-story super carrier, with state of the art hospital facilities on board. Normally stationed by Korea, and boasting of a six thousand member crew, it will now moor in the deep Atlantic waters just beyond the Chesapeake Bay.

Following the horrific collapse of the Washington Monument, the still incalculable loss of human lives, plus the destruction of countless Washington DC city streets and a major section of the Metro subway network, The United State of America is under martial law. The decision was based on the inexplicable attack that left unfathomable structural damage to the White House as a result of the catastrophic blast that toppled the Washington Monument and sent it spiraling like a pike to piece the iconic building from a source that has still yet to be determined.

The world is watching to understand what vast implications all of this will have on the global economic front, and non-ally countries around the world are bracing for a potential military backlash from the threatened U.S. America’s closest neighbors, Mexico and Canada, are also reeling from the tragic events.

Both Mexico’s and Canada’s national leaders had entered into what was then coined as The North American Union during a closed door pact with the President of the United States on March 23rd 2005, in Wako, Texas. Without needing to go through Congress, the Security and Prosperity Partnership of North American was announced, inextricably linking the three nations through a proposed new currency, The Amero—which will effectively blend the struggling U.S. dollar with the peso and the Canadian dollar in the near future.

Likened to the African Union, Asian Union, and European Union, the newly formed North American Union, which sought to evolve to one currency and to have several laws transparent to its trilateral agreement, will now also feel the violent shock waves of the recent terror attack throughout the three linked nations. World economic and military experts suggest grave consequences ahead for this pivotal collaboration.

American, Mexican, and Canadian borders have been shut down, all civilian planes grounded, and a massive military offensive is underway to sweep the area for potentially deadly bio-hazards that could have been released in the blasts. White House spokespersons have issued a short written comment that, “The nation is doing everything possible to analyze and contain the pale cloud that eyewitnesses saw rising from the site—which may have merely been debris, dust, and vapor from the multiple explosions. It is too early to tell whether the U.S. has also been the victim of bio-terrorism.”

Rider got up from the bamboo-framed sofa not even looking at the team, and simply turned off the television set in the large villa living room suite they occupied.

“Thanks,” Carlos said, his tone flat and hollow. “I was sick of hearing that shit anyway.”

Rider glanced around at the exhausted team and then at Carlos, who was sitting on the floor with his elbows resting on his knees, head hung low with fatigue, clearly heartsick. “Don’t mention it,” Rider muttered. “Face it; we ain’t getting out of this bull called life alive anyway.”

Yonnie pounded Rider’s fist as he passed. “It’s a damned shame to say it, but I know more people dead than alive—so hey.”

“Please don’t be so cheerful on my account, gentlemen,” Marjorie snapped losing patience. “I’d hate to have something crazy like hope ruin your morning.”

“Sorry, fresh out of hope this early in the day. Will pick some up with a cartoon of fairytales when I make a supply run,” Yonnie said, staring out of the wide sliding glass doors that lead to the deck. He spit out the toothpick he’d been gnawing on and walked to the doors to stare out at the ocean. “Ya think they let out the old fashioned Bubonic Plague or smallpox with the pale horse—or some zombie making bullshit, C?”

“Five bucks says all three,” Big Mike said, shaking his head.

“I’m waiting for the locusts, myself,” Rider said sarcastically while rubbing the stubble on his jaw. “I’m so disappointed in the dark side’s lack of creativity this time out. Anybody got a cigarette? Rhetorical question.”

“Your attitudes are pissing me off,” Marj snapped her gaze deadly before seeking Marlene’s for support.

“It definitely is the end of days,” Rider said, his voice hardening with additional sarcasm as he flopped down in a chair. “Finally pissed Marj off… so you know if Miss Mary Sunshine is losing it, then what chance do the rest of us poor bastards have?”

“Oh, just—” Marlene stopped mid-sentence and stared at the door with the rest of the team seers.

The sound of a golf cart followed by slow footsteps drew everyone’s attention and put weapons in their hands, cutting off what would have been Marlene’s verbal support of Marj.

Damali and Carlos gave each other a look as Dan nervously approached the door. Seers nodded and he finally turned the tumblers after a quick glance back at the team, waiting for reaffirming nods. Carefully concealed weapons were at the ready. With a quick look into the peep hole, Dan swung open the door.

“May I help you, Mr. Fontaine?”

“Uh, yes. Good morning, Mr. Weinstein. I’m so sorry to trouble you so early in the morning… may I have a word, er, in private?” The hotel manager’s cultured voice wafted through the hostile vibes in the room and his dark walnut-hued face seemed to flush as his gaze briefly slid away from Dan’s. His crisply starched, white, short-sleeved shirt and khaki Bermuda shorts seemed to wilt under a fresh rush of perspiration. “It is regarding a delicate matter best saved for a private conversation.”

“We don’t do ‘private’ on group expeditions,” Rider said, folding his arms.