"I'm sorry, sir, I—"
"Forget it," Riddell said sharply. "Get going. Get back to Northburg, scout around, find out whatever you can about this invasion. And send Ken Naylor in when you leave."
"Yes, sir."
The youthful spy turned and left. Riddell stared at the boy's back as he passed through the door, then studied the gold letters on the glass door that said "Mayor of Center City" in reverse.
He had come to Center City twenty years ago, a frightened, lonely ten-year-old orphan with no place to stay. That had been before the Madness. Center City had taken him in, given him a home, foster parents, all the things denied him so long. Riddell had grown to manhood in the pleasant Ohio town. And when the bombs came, blasting America and changing it from the mightiest country on Earth to a coast-to-coast chain of small towns separated by dreary ruins, Riddell had repaid the town that had once found room for him. Alone, through the smoke-filled night, he had marched through the blasted town, collecting survivors, comforting the people. That night, he had kept Center City alive.
For what? Riddell asked himself bitterly. Did I save this town and rebuild it brick by brick only to have some power-crazed fanatics in the next town destroy it again?
He clenched his powerful fists. "I won't let it happen," he said. "Not while I'm alive. I'll stop Barr some way."
The office door opened, and Ken Naylor entered. Naylor was a big man, almost as tall—though not as broad—as Riddell himself. Riddell had met him for the first time the night of the bombing, and three years later they were still operating as a team.
"I've heard this thing about Northburg," Naylor said without preamble. "What's gotten into them? Are they crazy, trying to conquer America city by city?"