Team Omega by Christopher G. Nuttall Page A

defeat it advanced as well.
     
    Visitors were not allowed aides in the Situation Room, which forced him to pour his own cup of black coffee and sit down beside General Kratman, the Director of the Superhuman Defence Initiative.  They were rivals in Washington, competing for scarce funds, but they managed to maintain a cordial working relationship, not too surprising considering they were generally called upon to help each other out.  Kratman hadn't seemed too approving of Chester’s role until he’d realised that Chester merely issued directives and provided political cover; the trained soldiers who led each operation team handled the actual deployments.  They knew what they were doing—and Chester didn't.  It had been a long time since he’d resented that simple fact.
     
    “Ladies and gentlemen,” Monica said, “the President of the United States.”
     
    Chester rose to his feet as President MacDougal entered, followed by a handful of political and intelligence directors.  The President looked tired—someone had given the order to wake him up early—and worn.  Being President in a world where the most powerful men and women weren't accountable to anyone, even the SDI, was an unpleasant task.  There were days when Chester wondered why anyone wanted the job.
     
    “Be seated,” the President said, curtly.  Monica passed him a cup of coffee and then took up a position at the corner of the room.  “Jasper?”
     
    Jasper Stillwell, the National Security Advisor, stood up and walked to the head of the table, picking up the remote that would allow him to activate the room’s compartmentalised presentation system.  He was a tall man with a long history of involvement in covert operations and intelligence analysis, who knew where the bodies were buried.  There were times when Chester envied the man’s unflappable nature—and times when he wondered if Jasper wasn't a superhuman himself.  But then, he wasn't serving openly as a superhuman, so he wouldn't have needed to register.
     
    “About one hour ago, we received an urgent broadcast from operatives within the Congo,” he said.  Chester lifted an eyebrow in surprise.  What could have happened in the blood-soaked country that could have summoned him—and the President—out of bed?  “Put bluntly, the Congo has been invaded by an outside force and most of the various political factions have been scattered or destroyed.”  He hesitated for a long moment.  “The outside force was a small army of superhumans.”
     
    Chester stared at him.  Diplomats in the United Nations had been pushing for a large-scale intervention in the Congo long before superhumans fleeing South Africa had made it much worse, but none of the talks had ever gotten off the ground.  The UN might have done more than urge developed nations to intervene, yet none of them trusted their rivals not to take advantage of the opportunity to claim the Congo’s mineral wealth for themselves. 
     
    Besides, the Congo simply wasn't important.  The closest superpower was Iraq, and they had their own problems with Iran.
     
    General Kratman remained focused, somehow fresh and rested despite the early morning hour.  “Who carried out this operation?”
     
    “According to media broadcasts, the operation was spearheaded by the Saviours,” Stillwell said.  Chester cursed.  He’d hoped that the Saviours would fall apart or abandon their idealistic dreams, not actually intervene in a foreign country.  “They were joined by over forty other superhumans and several dozen mutants.  Between them, they crushed the various factions with remarkable speed—none were capable of coping with a superhuman assault.  The sun rising over the Congo right now is a sun rising on a country ruled by superhumans.”
     
    “Jesus,” someone muttered, from behind him.  “What are they saying about it?”
     
    “Hope—their leader—broadcast to the world half an hour ago,” Stillwell said.