“Same here,” the Defense Intelligence Agency director added. “And we’re trying to squeeze anything we can from recent detainees. But I don’t think there’s much there other than what we got from Al-Kariya and his computer. Once Kariya broke, he broke hard. We’ve pretty much got everything he knew. Short of picking up someone high-level who is aware of the op, I think we’re about done there.”

“Where is the ship?”

“Should be just about to Miami,” Homeland Security said. “We’re low-keying it.”

“But they were supposed to be ‘transferred’ before reaching port, right?” the President asked.

“Yes, sir,” the DDIA said. “We picked the ship up late. It was definitely off the sea-lanes. The transfer possibly occurred somewhere north of the Bahamas.”

“The Navy’s looking for it,” the CJCS added.

“Mr. President,” the secretary of Homeland Security said, “we’re using every available resource.”

“Not every resource,” the President said, looking at the secretary of Defense. “Call Pierson. Now.”

“Sir,” the DNI said, rolling his eyes since the President wasn’t looking, “you’re not talking about…”

“Get me the Kildar.”

The painting had been made by a renowned cover artist, an artist of the “old school” that still used acrylics to create massive paintings just to grace a book.

The subject was a Valkyrie but one far different than most. She had the blonde hair and busty build of one, but her hair was unbraided, long golden tresses floating in the breeze of her passage. And instead of the traditional overendowed “breastplate,” she wore only a white dress, rich with seed pearls, cut daringly down the front to nearly the navel and short in front, high on the thigh. She was riding, sidesaddle, a white, winged horse and held in her right hand a blazing minigun, pointed at the ground. And she was smiling, a vicious smile of triumph and victory.