Four hundred miles of flat, seemingly-endless grassland and parched earth had rolled past Degan on his six-hour drive. Lukewarm air rushed through an open window, six cans of energy drink rattled in the empty passenger's seat and the radio blared on about the chaos in Houston.

'Three thousand operatives have been reported active in the Houston area in what is being called a pre-emptive security strike against any militants who might want to protest or even assault the President's motorcade, which will make its way down Texas Avenue at 2PM this afternoon. Officials have warned any suspicious activity will be dealt with very swiftly and severely. WTNZ Radio can report that five of our staff - all female - have been arrested this morning on suspicion of feminist sympathies. We urge everyone to remain in their homes.'

The newsreader, a male, seemed fairly nonplussed, unsure if what he was reading was the truth. Degan knew how well that would suit Wilkes; confusion and panic for a few hours while he got his team in and did the deed, and when the dust settled there would be another fifty thousand women in cages. It should be impossible, he thought. No amount of manpower should be able to execute something like that, and yet it was happening. How did Wilkes have such command over his men? How did he not have insurrections, revolutions, or even pro-female soldiers trying to take him down? Why on earth had Degan never heard a whisper, smelled so much as a whiff of an assassination attempt against the man himself?

He knew the answer. It was the same answer to the question of why Wilkes let Hobart run for office, and not just run on his own steam. Wilkes had more than enough money, more than enough contacts and all the leadership charm needed to win any election many times over. The reason he did not, and never would, was because it made so much more strategic sense to let some idealistic fool stand in his stead, and either knowingly or unknowingly, put himself in front of the cross-hairs.

Skyscrapers and broad buildings began to appear on the horizon. Freeway off-ramps were appearing every few hundred yards. Degan took another swig of Red Bull, wondering if and when he would actually see any of this supposed chaos.

'Reports are also coming in of feminist militia moving through suburban districts. If you have any knowledge or awareness of these activities, please contact...'

Millie was on the warpath, too. It did not take a genius to know what she was after. On his long drive Degan had found the time to wonder why he never asked Millie a clear and obvious question; how did she know Wilkes was the man behind all of this? It was he, Degan, who had been plastered all over the news back when Bluenorth finally came out of hiding. Ruth had seen to that. Wilkes, as per his modus operandi, was never anywhere near the public eye.

All of it rolled back to the problem that had been irritating him for weeks. It had burrowed into his mind like a tick, and each time he scratched at it the problem seemed to get worse. In the middle of the Amazonian jungle, a hundred miles from anything, there was a compound with the exact architecture used by Bluenorth, and their company insignia nailed onto the wall inside. How?

'TAKE THE NEXT EXIT LEFT.'

Degan now had moments left to make his decision. It was as if he were about to pass the scene of a car crash, and had to choose whether or not to look, or just keep on driving. The airport was not far off. He knew the right choice. Get on a plane, get out of here. Never come back.

'TAKE THE EXIT, NOW.'

'Do you even want to hear my side?'

Leng stiffed her lip as she unpacked a black box larger than her. From within she pulled out metallic pieces of some huge instrument and began locking them together.

'What's there to hear?' said Leng, voice trembling with anger. She was refusing to look at Millie. 'After all your damned speeches about Sisterhood, you ride the first cock you stumble across?'

Millie sighed and ran her fingers through her hair.

'Its not like that.'

'Yeah, well, that's what it looks like.' Leng stood up and handed the fully reconstructed rifle to Millie, letting its weight drop uncomfortably into her hands. 'And all that matters is how it looks, Mil. You can't expect them to follow you if you betray them like that.'

'Check the doors.' Millie said, pushing firmness back into her voice. Leng stormed off without saying another word.

Millie placed the rifle barrel on the window-ledge overlooking Texas Avenue and gazed through the scope. Normally it was a busy thoroughfare with shoppers, commuters and tourists jostling for space on the sidewalk. Today it was all but a ghost-town, only the brave few willing to ignore the warnings on the radio to come out and greet the President's motorcade as it passed by. Millie zeroed her sights in on the corner where the Avenue met Crawford at the foot of a Church.

'Everything alright?'

Millie turned her head to see Jason Donowitz, the owner of the small stadium who had given them access early in the day. He was a short man with mousey hair and a ridiculous yellow bow-tie that contrasted with the defeated expression on his face. Millie nodded back to him.

'Thank you for your help.'

'Its all I can do.' He shuffled off out of the room after a final, disturbed glance at the Barret 50 calibre in Millie's hands.