As the residents at Balmoral Palace concluded their lunch, they could not know that for many of them it would be their final meal.

After all, most people don’t get any warning of their death. Not even Presidents.

****

The cookies had a rich smell of cinnamon, and Anna Schubert was having a hard time limiting herself to just two. She wanted to watch her waistline – every bit of excess fat could slow her movements if she needed to draw her weapon, which was always a possibility when you were in the Dignitary Protection Group, the bodyguard section of the Union Criminal Investigative Service.

She was dressed in the black suit and white shirt combination favoured by the ‘overt’ protectors of DPG. Her standard issue sunglasses had an integrated camera for recording encounters; they also contained a transponder to allow for quick identification of friendly personnel – and those not friendly.

These days, they were less of a group and more like a whole corps, with over 1,500 protected persons on their books. Their charges ranged from the President of the Terran Union to top system Governors to big celebrities – as well as their immediate families. So, they needed more than 20,000 Special Agents just to keep up, before you added all the administration and technical people.

Her current charge was the top woman herself, President Mary Granger, along with the First Family – her spouse David Campbell-MacGregor (Chieftain of Clan Campbell-Gregor and Duke of Argyll) and their youngest child, Adelaide Campbell-MacGregor.

Adelaide was six years old and liked sneaking around this historical estate, once owned by royalty before its buildings were massively expanded for presidential use, trying – and failing – to catch the agents by surprise. Adelaide’s watch provided them with her location, making that game basically impossible, and also monitored her vital signs.

Adelaide’s elder brother, Peter, was away at the University of Edinburgh studying Business Administration and had declined DPG protection in a rather forceful manner. Accusing his mother of being a tyrant in a demonstration against her was as forceful as it could get.

Anna was aware of the rumours, which had some facts behind them. Journalists who criticised the administration disappeared or died in on-street assassinations. Slush funds slushed around and contractors overbid, rhetoric that enemies of humanity lurked in multiple corners filled some of the radio frequencies. But since the recent war against the Gan Empire and continued attempts by that race to subvert Terran democracy, including through terrorism, President Granger’s law-and-order policies were rather popular. She might well win the next election without having to resort to machine politics or the nefarious tricks nearly all sides used in Terran elections.

In any event, Anna’s oath was to the office, not to the person. She was fully prepared to give her life to protect the leader of humanity and the heir to Evhen Baransky, the literal saint (the Catholic and Orthodox Churches both having canonised him) who had led the first global government out of the ashes of the 2099 nuclear war.

Her current post was in the corridor that led to the President’s living quarters; she was with a more junior agent, Simon Gonzalez, who had just popped off to perform some bodily functions. This made her the last line of defence at the moment. There were thirty guards dotted around the compound, with another thirty off-duty in the barracks, mostly asleep or doing some refresher training.

Simon returned, looking visibly chipper. He was a handsome Latino man, powerfully built and the designated ‘jumper’ in this pairing – someone who would force the President to the ground in the event of an attack on her.

“When you go next, you should really try out that new hand soap. Feels great on your skin,” he remarked.

“You and your skin,” Anna chuckled. “It’s not the only thing in the…”

There was a flash in the corner of her eye. As she turned to look, a loud boom shook the windows.

A fireball had erupted from the DPG barracks, a large part of one wall coming away.

Then a sudden burst of loud static filled Anna’s earpiece, forcing her to remove it. She turned to Simon, whose transponder icon had disappeared. Two of her key tactical assets had gone down – they were on their own. “We’re under attack. Get Heather, Myrtle and Bluebell into the panic room. I’ll stay here and guard the corridor.”