"Treason!" he panted. "I'll have you killed for this. East, Baring, put my son under arrest!"
Marcus Baring started to move forward, and then he stopped and looked from the little old dictator to the tall, stalwart younger man. He rocked back, his black eyes thoughtful.
"I'm not so sure he isn't right," he announced slowly. "What he says makes sense to me."
Bayard looked stunned. Then he spat.
"You'll fry in hell for that, Baring! Gorman, arrest them both!"
It was then that the man who had been the greatest power Earth had ever known realized his power had rotted in his hands. For Clay Gorman, Commander-in-Chief of the United American forces, shook his head and stood doggedly. Loren Bayard was alone, caught in the teeth of the trap he himself had fashioned.
East drew his gun deliberately and cocked it, grinning tightly. Loren Bayard cringed against the door.
"Don't—don’t do it!" he croaked. "I'll resign. Take over The Hundred. Run the country any way—"
"Leaders don't resign," said East harshly. "They're ousted. I'm ousting you right now!" His voice grew loud, and with each syllable the finger on the trigger tightened.
The old man's cry was drowned in the crash of thunder that filled the room. His arms locked spasmodically over his stomach, where East's bullet had entered his body. Groaning, he went to his knees. His pain-filled eyes lipped up to the coldly watching Leaders, pleading with them.
East's big revolver barked five times more, and Loren Bayard jerked at each shot. The new dictator of America watched him coldly until he stopped squirming. He turned to Gorman.
"My orders stand," he clipped. "Rush all forces within two hours' distance to the city. Assemble all fighting craft above the island. When they attack—we'll be ready!"
CHAPTER XI
Worlds at War!
AT FOUR o'clock that morning, out of the lead gray darkness of the west, a faint whistling was heard, as of wind sighing around the rivets of swift fighting craft. Instantly, squadron upon squadron of fleet warships rose from the metropolis, deadly little dive bombers and fast pursuit ships bristling with powerful guns.
On the bridge of the Orsis, beside Nile Vanz, Dane Cabot heard the tinkling of warning bells that announced their coming. Kris was again at the controls. The Chief Gunner was ready at his robot-triggers and television screens. Vanz spoke hurriedly, betraying only a slight nervousness now that the moment of moments was here.
"What is our position?"
Dane was peering into a big, circular screen fixed on the top of a table. Below the ship were dense clouds and black pea-soup fogs. But in the infra-red screen he saw clearly the details of the city below.
"Directly above the island," he said crisply. "I see planes rising—clouds of them! Good Lord, the sky is black! I can hardly see the city for ships, now!"
He fought down the momentary panic that surged up within him. Tried to remember that there was a strong chance of victory if they followed their plans. But the recurrent thought that one tiny mistake would mean defeat kept hammering at him.
Vanz had been in communication
