An Enemy of Peace by Robert Silverberg

Center City belonged to Lloyd Riddell, and Lloyd Riddell belonged to the city. He had held it together almost single-handed while the white blaze of atomics laid waste the horizon; he had turned panic into determination, defeat into dogged refusal to lie down. He had fought for the city. He had killed for it.

And now the city was threatened again.

“When does Northburg intend to attack us?”

“I—I don’t know,” Len Colter said. “It all depends on what’s going on in David Barr’s mind. I lit out for Center City as soon as I heard him making the speech, there in that rubbleheap. The minute I heard him yelling, ’We must wipe out Center City,’ I knew I had to come back here and let you know.”

Riddell scowled. “I suppose you did the best thing. But you should have waited. You should have found out when they plan to attack.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I—”

“Forget it,” Riddell said sharply. “Get going. Get back to Northburg, scout around, find out whatever you can about this invasion. And send Ken Naylor in when you leave.”

“Yes, sir.”

The youthful spy turned and left. Riddell stared at the boy’s back as he passed through the door, then studied the gold letters on the glass door that said ”Mayor of Center City” in reverse.

He had come to Center City twenty years ago, a frightened, lonely ten-year-old orphan with no place to stay. That had been before the Madness. Center City had taken him in, given him a home, foster parents, all the things denied him so long.