“Oh, Dear Lord.” The Prime Minister raised his eyebrows and his brandy snifter and regarded the amber liquid against the fireplace. A moment later the camp was thrown into chaos and the sirens wailed from their towers. Within moments, the winds grew to a howl as the Canadian express roared down on Stark.

“Cut that siren, god-damn-it,” The Captain yelled as he moved towards the door. “And get that man out of here!” He pointed towards Churchill who returned the Captain’s own with a wistful gaze and stoked his cigar. He raised one arm forward and leaned towards the two guards who raised him from his chair and spirited him into the night. A moment later, the sirens fell silent as Pierce, too, blended into the raging storm.

Loren looked around. Dumbfounded.

“Pierce?”

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