(TWO HOURS BEFORE)
Ben Kincaid stood rigid and still as his wife, Christina McCall, adjusted his tie, smoothed the lie of his shirt, and ran a lint brush over the shoulders of his navy blue suit coat.
“There,” she said, taking a step back to survey the view. “Now you look like someone who’s ready to advise the leader of the free world.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Remember to smile and say something nice about his wife. And don’t remind him about-” She stopped in midsentence. “Wait just a minute.” She hiked up the leg of his blue slacks. “Are you seriously wearing red socks?”
Ben’s eyes moved downward. “They’re my lucky socks.”
“No.”
“But I need all the luck-”
“No.” She pointed toward the clothes closet. “Change.” Ben obeyed without further protest. Of course, he always made a great show of being put out when Christina made these sartorial demands, but in truth, he didn’t mind a bit. Given that he had no sense of fashion and was partially color-blind, he needed all the help he could get and was capable of accepting it without feeling his manhood was threatened. For years his mother had picked out and paired up all his clothes. Now she had passed the torch to his wife. All this meant, he reminded himself as he changed into a pair of blue socks, was that he was a very fortunate man.
The irony was that, once upon a time, Christina had been known for her dubious fashion sense, for dressing more like a member of the Sex Pistols than a practicing attorney. All that had changed last year when Ben made his run for a Senate seat. In addition to the five thousand other consultants they’d consulted, they’d hired a fashion consultant to tell them how to dress for formal functions, casual events, and television appearances. For Christina, it was a road-to-Damascus experience. Now she had the reputation of being one of the sharpest dressers in Washington. Ben had been asked more than once if she had acquired a fashion degree at some point in her past. With her gorgeous red hair styled in a fetching shoulder-length coif, Ben found her absolutely stunning. Not that he was prejudiced or anything.
“That’s more like it,” she said when he reemerged. “And just for the record, you’re not wearing those Superman boxer shorts, are you?”
“I’m not planning to strip at the White House.”
“Yes, and nothing unplanned ever happens to you, does it?”
“Good point. No, I’m clean.”
“Thank you.” She smiled, and the smile made his spirits soar. Such a beautiful woman. Her face seemed to absolutely glow. Was it all his imagination? She even seemed taller these days. Although he supposed that could have something to do with the heels. “Anything else you need, mon cher amour?”
“No. I’d better go. Traffic is terrible this time of day. And it still takes half an hour to get cleared to enter the White House.”
“Still?”
“Yup.” Ben had been working for almost two months now as a member of the president’s legal team. Robert Griswold was the official special counsel to the president, but he had a staff of four lawyers. After his Senate defeat Ben had been appointed to fill a temporary vacancy on that staff. Despite the loss-not exactly unusual for a Democrat in Oklahoma-Ben’s rankings in popularity polls remained high nationwide as a result of his work during his brief time in the Senate, particularly his work on the controversial Emergency Council bill, which garnered nationwide daily coverage. His oration on the floor of the Senate was widely credited with being the cause of the bill’s ultimate defeat, which endeared him to many, especially in the Democratic party. Still, he’d been flabbergasted when the newly elected president, Roland Kyler, invited him into the White House. “I want the president to have a chance to read my brief. So I’m out of here.”
“Did you have Jones proofread it?”
“I’m an adult, Christina.”
“And you’re the worst speller on earth. Spell-check is not enough for you. Email it to Jones now. He’ll have it proofed by the time you get to the White House.”
He raised his chin a bit. “If you insist. Parting is such sweet sorrow, but-”
“Wait.” She took both of Ben’s hands and snuggled close to him. “Can you believe that sometime today you’re going to see the POTUS?” Christina had always loved hip slang and catchphrases. She’d picked up on the Beltway acronyms in no time at all. “You work hard and try to help him. He’s a good man.”
“You just say that because he did you a favor.”
“No, I say it because it’s true.”
“You’re talking about his inspirational politics?”
“I’m talking about him, the human being. He’s good to his wife. That’s the surest sign of a good man.”
Ben arched an eyebrow. “Is it indeed?”
“Yes. I read that he’s given up smoking after twenty years because his wife didn’t want smoke to ruin the White House-or him. That can’t be easy, but he’s doing it for her. So you help him out, Ben. He doesn’t need any extra trouble.”
“I’ll probably get ten minutes with him. If I’m lucky.”
“Look at you!” She grinned and pulled him closer. “You’re talking about meeting with President Kyler all calm, cool, and collected. I remember when you couldn’t think about talking to a judge without your knees shaking so badly you could barely walk.”
Ben shrugged. “Times change. People grow up.”
“They do indeed.” She wrapped her arms around him. “And may I just say, Mr. Kincaid, that I like the way you’ve grown up, very much.” She pressed herself against him and squeezed.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Ben grinned. “I have a surprise for you.”
“What a coincidence. I have a surprise for you also.”
“Well, you’ll never top mine.”
“Never say never.”
“No, that’s what you always do. You always top my story. But not this time.”
“Okay,” she said, “you go first.”
Ben beamed. “Robert says there’s a good chance that after this temporary appointment expires, I might be appointed to the president’s energy commission.”
“That’s terrific! Who better than a good Oklahoma boy to advise the president on energy concerns?”
“Well, he knows we have to shift over to natural gas, the sooner the better. Our dependency on foreign oil is killing this country on numerous fronts. And we simultaneously need to develop alternative energy sources-”
Christina held up her hands. “Hold on, tiger. I’ve already heard the speech. Save it for the president.”
“Right. Sorry. But isn’t that great news?”
“Terrific.”
“So what’s your news, huh? Go ahead and try to top a presidential commission appointment.”
She batted her long eyelashes. “I’ve signed LexiCo as a firm client.”
Ben’s lips parted. “No.”
“Yup. We’re their counsel for all litigation matters, civil and criminal.”
“No!” Ben knew LexiCo was a huge East Coast technology firm that Christina had been courting for months. Having them on the firm roster would not only generate much revenue but start a precedent. Where LexiCo went others would surely follow. Ben had been concerned about the firm and its nascent D.C. satellite office, especially after he went “Of Counsel” so he could take the White House appointment. Now it appeared that Christina had landed a client who could keep the firm busy well into the future. “That’s fantastic!”
“Yup. I’m hiring a new associate. Just in case I want to take some time off.”
“Good thinking.”
“And?”
He sighed. “And your news is bigger than mine.”
“Like I said, never say never.” She pulled him close once more.
“Can we make a date to watch Jeopardy together tonight?”
She made a small moue. “Because you’ve read, like, every history book ever written? I don’t think I can stand to hear you ace all the history questions again.”
“Hey, at least you don’t have to listen to someone talking about how sexy Alex Trebek is.”
“I only did that once!” She squeezed him all the tighter. “It’s just ‘cause he reminds me of you, you smarty. So tell me the truth-do you like me a lot, or do you really truly love me, Mr. Kincaid?”
He hugged her with all his heart and soul. “Yes.”
As it turned out, Ben’s estimates were all wrong. Traffic was so jammed as he left their K Street apartment that it took him forty-five minutes to get to the White House, but only twenty-five minutes to pass through all the security protocols and get to his office. It worked out the same. Only a few minutes after he reached his office, the president’s chief of staff knocked on his door. “The president is ready to see you.”
Ben rose to his feet. He knew Sarie Morrell didn’t like it, but his mother had taught him to always rise when a woman entered the room, and old habits died hard. Sarie was the president’s chief of staff, one of the few females to ever hold that position. Her crisp efficiency, not to mention her good looks and snappy dress, often reminded Ben of his wife. Sarie was a blonde, with long, straight hair that stretched past her shoulder blades, but she shared with Christina that most valuable of all assets: the ability to get things done. Other White House staffers dithered, changed their minds, vacillated, but not Sarie. Once she made a plan, she stuck to it and pushed to make it a reality. In the short time he’d been in the White House, Ben had seen what an asset she could be to President Kyler, whom he believed to be a good man with his heart in the right place.
“Do I need to bring anything?”
Sarie was an Alabama girl and spoke with a pronounced southern accent. “Just a notepad and your razor-sharp brains.”
“I think I left them at home.”
“Then fake it. That’s what the rest of us do.”
Ben grabbed his legal pad and followed her into the corridor. She moved fast, and he had to make an effort to walk with her, rather than in her wake. The legal office was at the far edge of the West Wing, near the elevator the First Family used to get to their personal rooms. The corridors were crowded today, but then, they almost always were. He was amazed by how much business, in so many different arenas, was conducted in the White House on a daily basis.
Ben still considered this sprawling mansion, which insiders called “the Residence,” a large Greek labyrinth. He had learned to negotiate his way by noting landmarks. In a few moments they passed the Red Room, a favorite of his because he knew it was a favorite of Eleanor Roosevelt’s and had been refurbished under the direction of Jacqueline Kennedy. Barely a half minute later, given Sarie’s brisk pace, they were whizzing by the Green Room and the Blue Room, both of which he knew had been substantially improved by Pat Nixon. Her husband had covered up FDR’s swimming pool and added a bowling alley. Pat had brought in more than six hundred fabulous artifacts and artworks. How did those two ever live together?
They turned right into the main corridor and almost collided with Dr. Henry Albertson, the president’s chief physician, who entered at the same time from the opposite side. Ben was surprised to see him. He knew the White House medical office was located at the far opposite end of the corridor.
Ben nodded at the doctor. “You’re walking briskly this morning.”
Albertson was an avuncular man in his mid-sixties, his hair still brown and his cheeks the color of radishes. “You do anything else in this joint, you’ll get trampled.”
“Not on your way to an emergency, I hope.”
“No. Just headed for the Oval Office.”
Ben’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Now? Are you involved in the offshore drilling case somehow?”
“No, no. I just like to drop in from time to time. To observe what’s going on.”
“You mean with the president?”
“Just every now and again. Whenever Sarie thinks it’s a good idea.”
Out the corner of his eye, Ben saw a look pass from Sarie to the doctor. The expression on Albertson’s face gave him the distinct impression that she thought he should close his mouth. He did.
As Ben continued walking down the corridor he attempted to break what had become an uncomfortable silence. “Any progress with the Speaker of the House, Sarie?” President Kyler was a Democrat, but the Republicans controlled the House, and as a result, Kyler had been unable to pass any of his major objectives so far. The Speaker, Congressman Wilkins, was extremely charismatic and high-profile, probably nursing presidential aspirations of his own. “Surely there must be someplace they can compromise.”
“If so, I haven’t found it. And believe me, I’ve tried.” She flashed him a quick smile. “I’ve turned on all my southern-girl charm and then some. Even offered to come by the House cafeteria and whip up a batch of my grandmama’s hominy grits. He didn’t go for it.”
Ben shook his head. “The man must be made of steel.”
“Well, he’s from New Jersey. They don’t know what good food is.”
“Wait a minute,” Dr. Albertson said. “I’m from New Jersey.”
“And have you ever eaten my grandmama’s hominy grits?”
“Well, if the opportunity arose…”
“I brought some to the potluck at Vice President Swinburne’s house last month. And I made careful note of who partook and who did not. You were not among the partakers.”
Albertson cleared his throat. “Well, I would’ve been.” He patted his stomach. “But that darned spastic colon of mine was acting up.”
Sarie gave him a long look. “Do tell.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had grits,” Ben said.
“Well, you’re a man of culture and refinement,” Sarie replied. “I feel certain you would adore them.”
“Doesn’t that pretty little wife of yours fix you breakfast?” Albertson asked.
“She does,” Ben replied. “She makes a fantastic spinach omelet. When she has time.” And when she didn’t, he did not add, or when she wasn’t looking, he dug into his secret stash of Cap’n Crunch. Living with a health food nut could be so challenging at times.
A deep, gravelly voice cut into the conversation. “This must be the Three Stooges. On their way to tell the emperor he’s got no clothes.”
Ben veered left and saw his least favorite person in the entire White House, Admiral Wilson Cartwright, the head of the White House Military Office. He was a stocky older man, about a foot shorter than Ben, but if you judged by his bearing and manner, you would think he must be at least three feet taller.
Ben had never been very good with the military. But Cartwright seemed to have an absolute antipathy for lawyers. Whenever possible, Ben just tried to stay out of the man’s way.
“We’re off to see the wizard,” Ben answered.
Cartwright made a guttural growling sound. “Then you can follow me.”
Of course. It would have to be that way. Cartwright led the way down the corridor.
“Are you interested in offshore drilling?” Ben asked.
“Oil reserves are first and foremost a military concern,” Cartwright replied in a tone that suggested Ben was a total idiot for asking.
“Yes, but this is a legal matter. The injunction-”
Cartwright’s eyes moved closer together. “Maybe you’ve been too busy chasing ambulances to notice what’s been going on in the Middle East for the past fifty years or so, but it’s the greatest threat to this nation, so I don’t have the luxury of looking the other way.”
Ben knew it was foolish to even reply. Anything he said would be twisted around to fit into the man’s monomaniacal worldview. But the perverse imp within Ben wouldn’t let it lie. “I still don’t understand why the military needs to attend a legal strategy session.”
“Well, I don’t know why Robert Griswold appointed you to his staff. A man that age normally has more sense. But I do know this: as soon as we enter the Oval Office, you’ll do your bleeding-heart routine about the environment and you’ll oppose every sensible approach to reducing our dependence on foreign oil. Someone with some perspective has to be there.”
So that was what this was all about. “I’m all for reducing our dependence on foreign oil,” Ben said. “But I won’t sacrifice our natural resources for another basin of oil or two. The only long-term answer is alternative-”
“I don’t have the luxury of dwelling on so-called long-term solutions. I have to deal with the threats that confront us in the here and now.”
“I still don’t understand-”
Cartwright stopped abruptly. “You don’t have to understand, Mr. Kincaid. All you have to do is file your little lawsuits and stay out of the way of the men who are doing the real work to protect this nation. You understand what I’m telling you? Stay out of my way.”
Ben tucked in his chin. “You may have been confused by my snappy attire, but I am not in the military. I am not under your authority and I do not take orders from you.”
“Everyone in this building takes orders from me, mister.” To some extent, Ben knew that was true. As head of the White House Military Office, Cartwright was in charge of the entire building and everything that transpired within, including communications, food, medicine, emergency procedures, and all forms of executive transportation. If the president wanted something done here, it went through Admiral Cartwright. And if Cartwright wanted to attend this meeting, there was no way that Ben could stop him. “So my advice to you is to stay out of my way. I do not like enemies and I do not treat them kindly.”
“Oh, look,” Dr. Albertson said, clapping his hands together. “We’ve arrived. What a shame this engaging conversation will have to come to an end.”
Ben noted that Sarie had to bite down on her lip to keep from smiling.
They approached the northeast door to the Oval Office. Ben knew there were four entrances to the executive office. The northeast door opened onto the president’s secretary’s office; the northwest door led to the main corridor of the West Wing; the west door connected to a small study and a dining room; and the east door led directly to the Rose Garden. This was the primary way in for visitors, perhaps because it made it easier for his secretary, or the chief of staff if she was available, to prevent unwanted intrusions.
They were greeted by the press secretary, Alden Meyers, a tall man from Connecticut whose background was in advertising.
“The president may be delayed,” he told them in a hushed voice. “There’s a crisis. We’re preparing a statement.”
Ben immediately thought of the Speaker of the House and the legislation now being debated. “A legislative crisis?”
Meyers lowered his head gravely. His voice dropped at least an octave. “No. A nuclear crisis.”
Admiral Cartwright moved rapidly to the forefront. “Nuclear? Has there been an detonation?”
“No,” Meyers replied. “Not yet, anyway. But a nuclear suitcase bomb has disappeared from a secret Arlington armory. The CIA has some leads and they’ve been tracking suspects.”
“Terrorists.”
“That would be the worst-case scenario. It’s always possible it was misplaced-”
“Someone misplaced a nuclear bomb?”
“-or relocated. One of those left-hand-doesn’t-know-what-the-right-hand-is-doing situations. But the circumstances suggest theft by foreign agents, so the CIA has been investigating.”
“Have they apprehended anyone?”
“Not yet. There’s an agent in the field who thought he had something important, but we haven’t heard anything back from him yet.”
“Are we going public with this?”
“The president says yes, even though he knows there will be negative fallout. It will undoubtedly cause panic and criticism. But the people have a right to know. And he’s afraid that if he doesn’t and a bomb goes off, he’ll look like he didn’t know what was going on.”
“I think that’s a mistake,” Cartwright grunted, looking at the Oval Office door. “But I guess I can tell the man myself.”
“Look,” Ben interjected, “my little meeting can wait. Sounds like the president has more important things-”
“No,” Meyers said. “Your meeting may be brief, but he wants it to happen. The president wants to continue doing business as usual. It’s important not to let a possible terrorist threat interfere with the work of governing. And we don’t know at this time that there’s any immediate threat.”
Ben shrugged. “Whatever the man wants.”
Sarie knocked on the door. “Roland?”
The door opened, and on the other side, Ben glimpsed the POTUS himself-the president of the United States.
“Come on in, gang.”
Cartwright, predictably, entered first, though Sarie was racing so hard they almost bumped shoulders passing through the doorway. Albertson followed close behind. Ben was content to be fourth. Meyers moved in the opposite direction, presumably off to prepare a press release.
Sarie and Cartwright sat on the two facing sofas with such speed that Ben wondered if they had assigned seats. Albertson stood at the north end of the room beside the portrait of George Washington. Ben wasn’t sure where to go, but the president gestured toward two high-back Martha Washington-style lolling chairs in front of the fireplace. Ben took the seat on the right. He had noticed during previous meetings that the president always sat on the left. He wasn’t sure why, but given how every move any president made these days was carefully calculated and orchestrated in advance, he was sure there was a reason.
President Kyler was a tall Californian who had managed to maintain his tan even in the often inclement climate of Washington, D.C. He had the sort of distinguished senior-statesman good looks that photographed well on television, an essential these days for anyone hoping to be elected to the highest office in the land.
Ben couldn’t resist smiling when he saw Kyler, even though these days he normally saw him at least once a week. The thrill never died. He had been a huge supporter of Kyler during his campaign, though at certain times and places he’d had to keep it to himself-he didn’t want his own failing senatorial run to impact negatively on Kyler’s. Christina was the one who had singled Kyler out early in the campaign as the best hope for the nation. After his predecessor’s tumultuous, saber-rattling administration, Kyler looked like a much-needed breath of fresh air. He favored all the progressive people-first programs that the previous president had ignored. He pushed education and alternative energy and, best of all, dreamed of augmenting diplomatic missions to ease world tensions and render future invasions and wars unnecessary. His speeches had so inspired Christina that anytime she could spare time from Ben’s campaign, she devoted it to his.
This had become important barely a month after Ben started working for Kyler, when Christina needed a favor. Ben was barely comfortable speaking to the president, much less asking for a favor. He knew how busy the president was and doubted he could find time to do anything for them. He was wrong. Kyler remembered that Christina had been one of his earliest and most ardent supporters. He put her problem at the front of his executive to-do list and had the whole mess cleared up in less than a day. It was hard not to admire someone like that, someone who could take the highest office in the land and still not forget who his friends were. Ben never forgot anyone who had been kind to his beloved wife, especially not someone who had taken time to do her this favor. He owed the president a debt of kindness he would always remember, and which he would be happy to pay back any way he could.
“Please, everyone, take a seat,” the president said. He seemed preoccupied, which was not surprising, given what Ben had just heard.
Kyler had installed a wide-screen video monitor over the fireplace, which Ben knew was capable of receiving every television channel known to mankind, satellite transmissions, closed-circuit transmissions, and just about anything else the president might ever wish to view.
The president launched into the discussion exactly the way Ben had expected-a discussion between two men, the president and his legal counsel. “You’ll forgive me if I’m brief, Ben. There’s a lot going on right now. Not only-”
Admiral Cartwright interrupted. “What’s the latest intel on the stolen suitcase?”
Kyler blinked a moment but remained unflappable and turned to answer the question. Ben marveled at the temerity of a man willing to interrupt the president of the United States.
“Nothing concrete. We had a promising report from a field agent, but he’s been out of contact for over twenty minutes now and we don’t know his location. Seamus McKay.”
“I know McKay,” Ben said, then immediately wished he hadn’t, after every head in the room turned to face him. “It was just a little… I mean, nothing-” He cleared his throat. “I met him once, when I was a senator. Gave him some advice. Seemed like a good, capable man.”
“He’s the best we have,” the president rejoined. “Spent almost two decades in the Middle East. He’s like Superman. James Bond on steroids.”
“But you haven’t heard back from him,” Cartwright said.
“No.”
“I hope someone hasn’t pulled off Superman’s cape.”
“Exactly.” The president paused. “Still, the investigation is ongoing. We have no reason to believe there is any present danger.”
Cartwright made a dismissive noise with his lips.
“The situation in Kuraq concerns me a good deal more. As you know, we’ve had aircraft carriers and troops poised in the Gulf for some time, ready to invade Kuraq if they don’t back off their occupation of the Benzai Strip. They’ve been threatening to instigate a genocidal war against the natives. The UN is still debating, but I’m not going to stand still and do nothing while they slaughter thousands of people.”
“What’s the new development?” Ben asked.
“A Red Cross helicopter on its way to Benzai went down just over the Kuraqi border. We think at least some of the passengers are still alive. But the military leader, Colonel Zuko, won’t give us permission to recover them.”
“Why should he?” Cartwright said. “He’s not blind. He can see you’re preparing to invade. You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t grab them all and turn them into hostages.”
“Yes, thank you, that possibility had occurred to us.”
“Then what are you doing about it?”
“Everything we possibly can, Will.” Ben couldn’t help admiring how well Kyler kept his cool, even when being openly challenged by that tinhorn brass hat. He supposed some people might see it as weakness, but Ben admired a man who didn’t need to get into a cockfight to show who was boss. The president of the United States had no need to prove himself. He was the commander in chief, whether Cartwright liked it or not.
“But this isn’t what I wanted to talk with you about, Ben. As you know, the SageTech firm has filed for injunctive relief from federal regulations preventing them from offshore drilling near the coast of Virginia. If they are successful, it could upset my entire energy plan. Are they going to be successful?”
“Predicting the outcome of lawsuits is a fool’s game,” Ben replied.
A corner of the president’s mouth tugged upward. “I must be paying you for something.”
“Here’s the reality of the situation. There are many places SageTech could’ve filed this lawsuit. They undoubtedly chose Virginia because the state’s supreme court leans heavily to the right. Regardless of what happens in the lower courts, it will eventually end up before the state supremes, and some of them might be tempted to vote their politics instead of their legal precedents.”
“But then we could appeal to the U.S. Supreme Court.”
“Yes, but it’s also heavy on the Republican side.”
“They can’t just ignore the law.”
“No. They’ll say the law is unconstitutional and argue that is should be set aside.”
“I assume you’ll have a response.”
Ben raised his eyebrows. “Now that is what you pay me for.” Ben removed a stapled bundle of papers from his legal pad. “I’ve prepared three drafts exemplifying different approaches we could take. All of them are geared toward one thing.”
“Winning in the Supreme Court.”
“No. Winning everywhere. Because we don’t want a lower-court loss. Even if we can later get it reversed, the press will be all over it, the Speaker of the House will declare it a victory, and your energy plan will suffer.”
“You’re exactly right.”
“So we need to win, not just in the last court, but in every court.”
“That would be a miracle.”
Ben shrugged slightly. “Miracles are kind of my specialty.”
President Kyler extended his hand. “Kincaid, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but I like you. And I’m glad to have you on my staff.”
“The feeling is mutual, sir.”
“I hate to break up this lovefest,” Cartwright barked, “but when the Middle East is on the brink of disaster, don’t we have more important things to discuss than some damn lawsuit?”
Kyler sighed. “Stay calm, Admiral. It’s not as if the United States has never intervened in Middle Eastern affairs before.”
“Don’t I know it! There’s been too much of it. Never comes to anything good.”
“That’s not-”
“We have no jurisdiction there,” Cartwright said adamantly. It seemed he was willing to address the newly elected president in the same officious manner he used to address Ben.
To Kyler’s credit, he took it all in stride-though this close up, Ben did notice a tiny twitch in his eye. “Will, there’s no point in being the leader of the free world if you’re not willing to lead.”
“All you’re doing is asking for more trouble in the Middle East, as if we hadn’t had enough already. And for what? A bunch of overfed, overpaid sheiks who blow their money on fancy hotel rooms instead of building a nation?”
“That’s only a small percentage of-”
“It doesn’t matter. America ’s first concern should be America.”
“And it is. But when we wield so much power, it would be immoral to stand idly by and-”
“If you send in those troops, you’ll leave a gaping hole in our national defense.”
“A hole? A hole?” Kyler smiled and, to Ben’s amazement, began to sing. “There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza. There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, a hole.”
The room fell silent. Ben saw Dr. Albertson and Sarie exchange a meaningful glance.
Kyler continued grinning. While the others watched silently, he rose from his chair and walked to his desk.
Ben knew he had been under a good deal of stress during his first few months in office. Was the strain already starting to get to him? His eyes seemed unfocused and distant.
“I love this desk,” Kyler said, rubbing his hand lightly over the inset leather blotter. “It’s called the Resolute desk. Do you know why? It was made from the timbers of the British frigate HMS Resolute, which was discovered by American whalers after it was stranded in the ice and abandoned by all hands. The ship was repaired by the U.S. Navy and returned to England. This desk was a reciprocal gift from Queen Victoria to President Rutherford B. Hayes. Can you imagine the great minds that have sat at this desk? Great minds. Great minds.”
“Mr. President,” Cartwright said, his bushy eyebrows tightly knitted together. “Can we talk about Kuraq? I assume-”
Kyler flung himself across the desk. “Ha! But you should never assume. Because when you assume, you make an ass out of you and me. A-s-s, u, and m-e. Get it?”
Dr. Albertson quietly rose to his feet. Somehow a sphygmomanometer had materialized in his hands. He approached the president. “Sir, I’d like to take your blood pressure and conduct a small examination, just to make sure-”
“Oh, leave me alone.” Kyler turned and faced the large window behind the desk. “So much history has occurred in this room. So much history. Did you know that the White House-which they used to call the Executive Mansion -originally didn’t even have a West Wing? True. You can thank Teddy Roosevelt for this. Before him, this whole wing was covered by gardens and greenhouses. Teddy was the one who decided he needed a retreat from his wife and children and pets and nieces and nephews. He had the West Wing constructed to give himself a private retreat where he could actually get some work done. Taft enlarged it, and every president since has worked right here, in this office, gazing out at this magnificent view.”
Albertson tapped him on the shoulder. “Sir, I really must insist-”
“On what? A round of croquet?”
“On invoking my authority as White House physician to do a spot examination to make sure you’re of sound mind and body.”
“Of course I am. Go away, Henry.”
Ben noticed Cartwright was watching this exchange carefully.
“Give me two minutes and I can confirm that you have not suffered a cardiac arrest or a brain hemorrhage. That will do for now. Later we can-”
Without warning, the northwest door flew open and four men streamed through the opening. From their dress, Ben assumed that they were Secret Service agents. In fact, Ben recognized one of them-Max Zimmer. He had met Zimmer during the second tragedy in Oklahoma City.
“Mr. President, please come with us.”
President Kyler seemed even more befuddled. “Come with you? You come with me!”
“No, sir.” Without further comment, Agent Zimmer placed his hands under the president’s arms and hoisted him into the air.
“Up, up, and away, in my beautiful, my beautiful balloooooon!” the president sang. “Where are we going?”
“To the PEOC, sir. Immediately.”
The PEOC? Ben wondered. Had he heard right? What-or where-was that?
The Secret Service men took no notice of the president’s behavior. Ben wondered if that was because they were so professional and focused-or because they were used to it.
Another agent grabbed Ben’s arm. “You’ll have to come, too, sir.”
“Me? I’m just a lawyer.”
“Our instructions are to relocate everyone in the Oval Office immediately.”
“Can I call my wife first?” Ben asked, taking out his cell phone.
“No, sir,” the agent said, snatching it away from him. “You may not.” He gave Ben a push and herded him toward the doorway. Ben saw the other agents doing the same for everyone else in the room.
Just as they almost had him through the door, President Kyler put his foot down-literally. He pivoted in the doorway and faced them.
“Just one damn minute,” he said forcefully. He seemed like his previous self once again. “I’m the president of the United States. I demand to be informed why I am being relocated.”
Agent Zimmer shook his head. “There isn’t time, sir.”
“Then make it quick.”
Zimmer paused. “We have reason to believe that short-range theater ballistic missiles may be headed toward the White House.”
The president’s eyes widened-just like everyone else’s. “Ballistic missiles! How could they get this close to Washington without being detected earlier?”
Zimmer pressed his lips tightly together. “They’re ours.”
C hristina made her way through the front door of the offices of Kincaid & McCall on C Street. They were not as plush as the old digs at Warren Place in Tulsa, but arguably the location was better. Particularly when your husband was jumping from one political appointment to the next. And that was the key to real estate, wasn’t it? Location, location, location.
Jones was sitting in the front office, taking phone messages, answering email, and watching CNN out the corner of his eye.
“What’s happening?” Christina asked, flinging her briefcase up on the counter. “What’s new in our world?”
“Nothing unexpected. Just me managing the office all by myself. As usual.”
Jones was a fabulous office manager, so the martyr streak was something she and Ben had learned to ignore. “Gosh, sorry. What am I, two minutes late? Excusez-moi!”
“I thought you were coming in at eight now.”
“Did I say that? Well, I thought better of it.”
“You’ve got about a zillion calls from someone at LexiCo. Are they a client?”
“They are now,” she said proudly.
“Great. More work. When is Ben coming back?”
“Not anytime soon, I’m afraid. Fear not, Jones. We’ll survive.”
“Yeah. But I miss seeing the Boss.”
She didn’t bother to ask why she wasn’t the boss now. She knew that for Jones, there was only one Boss, and it wasn’t her-and it wasn’t Bruce Springsteen, either. “I’m sure he’ll drop by from time to time. But he’s very busy. Such a big shot. Working for the president.”
“Yeah, yeah. Very impressive.”
For a moment Christina was afraid he was going to cry. She would have to make sure Ben came by for a visit. “Anything else going on?”
“You’ve got three youngsters wanting to interview for the associate position.”
“Swell.”
“You didn’t tell me we were hiring another associate.”
Christina sighed. “Jones, we’re-”
“As the financial comptroller of this outfit, shouldn’t I have been consulted? So you could determine if we can afford a new associate.”
“This LexiCo work should pay for an associate’s salary and then some.”
He sniffed. “Let’s hope so.”
“Any phone messages?”
“Yes,” he said, lightening somewhat. “My wife got a job at the Library of Congress.”
“That’s wonderful. Paula will be able to stay with you here full-time. I’m glad. I don’t think a married couple should ever be separated for long.”
“Well, you know, we’ve been married awhile. We’re not as googlyeyed as you and Ben.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I’m not. I have trouble keeping down my dinner when I’m around you two.”
She grinned. “Anything else? You know what I want to hear.”
“Sorry. No word from Loving.”
She frowned. Their longtime investigator Loving had taken a tough beating some time ago when he was tracking cesium smugglers during an investigation relating to one of Ben’s cases. He’d survived, but the trauma of the experience had hit him hard. He’d asked for some time off-an investigative sabbatical, so to speak-to relax, recover, and try to get his head together. No one had seen or heard from him since.
“If that changes, let me know immediately.”
“I will.”
“Anything I can do for you?” she asked.
He pressed his hand against his chest. “No, no, you just go on about your business. I’ll take care of all the logistics and payroll and everything else that’s difficult or-” His eyes darted to the television screen. “Wait a minute. What’s going on?”
Christina edged around the counter so she could see. The screen was displaying a stock picture of the White House.
“… don’t have the details, but we are told that the terrorist alert warning is at its highest and that there is a concern that we may be facing an imminent threat. Inside sources say that the president and everyone else in the White House have been evacuated to an undisclosed safe location. Repeated rumors are circulating that the White House itself may be in danger and…”
Christina stared at the screen, her face turning ashen. “Ben!”
The president and Agent Zimmer continued to exchange words while moving, but the whole evacuation procedure became so frenzied Ben could no longer hear what was being said. He felt as if he were a cow in a slaughterhouse. The Secret Service agents didn’t quite use a prod on him, but almost. If he delayed or hesitated, his personal shepherd pushed up against him, nudging him along.
They quickly passed through Cross Hall, which connected the State Dining Hall and the East Room. A few seconds later they were in the East Wing, where the First Lady and the White House social secretary kept their offices. Where were they going?
As they entered the corridor, they encountered another squadron of agents with two political heavy hitters of their own: Michael Ruiz, the nation’s first Hispanic to fill the office of secretary of state, and secretary of defense, Albert Rybicki. Just before they turned the corner, Ben thought he caught a glimpse of another platoon of agents whisking someone in the opposite direction-someone who looked like the vice president of the United States. Could that be? Why wasn’t he coming with them?
But once he thought for a moment, he realized that made perfect sense. Even if there wasn’t time to transport everyone else, they would take the VP to another location. They didn’t want the president and his immediate replacement in the same place. Just in case those missiles made contact.
After they had traveled about halfway into the East Wing, the Secret Service agents herded them into a large elevator. It had the spacious, no-frills appearance of a freight or cargo elevator, but given how many of them there were, Ben was grateful for the extra space. Agent Zimmer pressed a button and the elevator descended. In the small and relatively quiet space, Ben was able to pick up more of their conversation.
“I’m confused,” the president said. “I thought that in the event of an imminent air strike, the plan was to put me on Air Force One and get me the hell out of Dodge.”
“Based on our current intel,” Zimmer explained, “we’re not sure there’s time.” Zimmer was dark-skinned and the black suit and tie made him seem even darker. His clipped manner of speaking and emotionless delivery might make him seem cold to some, but Ben had learned to appreciate his rare ability to remain totally cool in a crisis. “At any rate, we’re not taking the risk. We’re taking you to the PEOC. We’re sending the vice president off in the plane.”
“But if there’s not enough time for me…” The president didn’t finish his question. He figured it out for himself. “Oh.”
If someone had to be at risk, it wasn’t going to be the president. It would be the man chosen as his running mate.
“Thank heaven the First Lady is in California. How can we be under attack from one of our own missiles?” the president asked.
“We’re not sure yet, sir. But a missile has been fired.”
“How close?”
“The missile has already entered P-fifty-six airspace.” Ben had been around long enough to know that was a reference to the zone of restricted air traffic surrounding the White House.
“Can’t we bring it back?”
“We cannot, sir.”
“Divert it?”
“No.”
“I specifically recall being advised that our computer guidance systems had the capability to-”
“Sir, we’ve lost control of the guidance systems.” Zimmer probably didn’t intend to raise his voice, but he did, and it had the effect of silencing everyone in the elevator.
The agent took a deep breath, then slowly continued. “We’ll give you a full briefing as soon as we have you safely in the bunker.”
The elevator doors opened and they all streamed outward. Zimmer and two other agents steered the president toward a door on the far left. Dr. Albertson went with him, presumably still eager to complete his examination. Everyone else was herded toward a set of double doors directly before them. Cartwright, predictably, tried to break loose from the pack and follow the president, but one of the agents gently but firmly kept him moving toward the double doors.
Ben was escorted into what at first glance appeared to be a fairly standard White House briefing or conference room. There was a long table in the center surrounded with chairs, a three-seat communications terminal, a video monitor like the one in the Oval Office, a programmable illuminated map of the world, a writing easel, telephones, the ubiquitous coffee station, and on the north wall the seal of the president of the United States. When he looked more closely, though, and more important, looked up, he realized that the room was far from conventional. It had a rounded, almost tubular shape. The ceilings curved at the corners and, above the faux-wood paneling, the walls were gray. There was also something odd about the air, although it took him a moment to identify what he was subconsciously sensing. There was nothing natural or fresh about the air. It was all being pumped in from somewhere else.
Agent Zimmer entered from a side door not far from the presidential seal. “Please take your seats.”
Everyone complied. Sarie took the seat nearest the coffee and poured herself a tall one. Ben knew she was a coffee junkie. He drank the stuff on occasion to make a good show, but in the privacy of his office, he always preferred a cup of chocolate milk. Cartwright was still grumpy, so Ben stayed out of his way.
“Welcome to the PEOC,” Zimmer continued.
“The what?” Ben said, apparently too loudly.
Zimmer smiled slightly. “You’re not the only one who doesn’t know, Ben. I guarantee it. Dick Cheney said he didn’t even know this place existed until we brought him here on September eleventh. PEOC stands for the Presidential Emergency Operations Center. It’s an underground bunker buried deep in the basement beneath the East Wing of the White House. It’s designed to withstand a nuclear attack.”
Ben swallowed. “Then you believe-”
“We do not at this time believe there is a nuclear threat, no. But with an extremely powerful conventional missile in the air and a nuclear suitcase gone missing, this seemed the most prudent response.”
“How long are we going to be here?” Ben asked.
“I have no way of knowing the answer to that question.”
“Can I call my wife?”
“Not at this time, no. This bunker is shielded so intensely that ordinary cell signals cannot get out. The only way to make contact with the outside world is through this communications station. I’ll let you know as soon as that situation changes.”
“Enough of this blather,” Admiral Cartwright said. “Tell us what’s going on. What’s this about one of our own missiles heading toward the White House?”
“I’m sorry. I’m not at liberty to disclose that information.”
“Do you know who I am, mister? I’m the head of the-”
“Yes, sir, I know very well who you are,” Zimmer said without blinking. “And that information still can only be disclosed on the president’s direct order.”
“What about me?” Ruiz asked. “I’m the secretary of state. Can you tell me?”
“Not at this time.”
“If you can’t tell me, whom can you tell?”
“The president is being briefed. After that’s completed, he can make a determination about what information he wants released and to whom.”
“Are you listening to me? I’m the secretary of state!”
“Yes,” Agent Zimmer said, absolutely stone-faced. “I knew that already. I also know that your wife’s name is Marjorie, that you have two daughters named Olivia and Danette, you keep a bull pup named Tiger, you graduated eighty-sixth in your class at West Point, and your favorite book is Pride and Prejudice.” He paused. “I really don’t need a briefing on who you are. But thank you anyway.”
Ruiz sat back in his chair, apparently chastised.
“Does anyone else require identification, or may I proceed?” Zimmer was looking directly at Cartwright as he said it.
Cartwright mumbled, “Proceed,” then he turned toward Ruiz, eyebrows knitted. “Pride and Prejudice?” he whispered. “That’s not a man’s book.”
“Have you read it?” Ruiz shot back.
“Well…”
“So shut up.”
Secretary Rybicki leaned forward. “Can you at least tell us if this is about Kuraq?”
“No,” Zimmer said, “I can’t even tell you-”
All at once, the lights in the room shimmered on and off. Someone shrieked, startled. Ben noticed that the power to the monitor and communications panel flickered off as well.
“What was that?” Cartwright demanded.
Zimmer’s face barely changed, but it was enough for Ben to be concerned. “I don’t know. I’ll investigate.”
“Damn it all, man, are we safe or not?” Cartwright said, rising to his feet. What he lacked in height he made up for in bluster. “Can they get to us?”
“Nothing can get to you in this bunker.”
“Apparently something is shorting out the electrics!”
“I wouldn’t jump to that conclusion. Power blips happen, even in the White House.”
“Don’t give me your flippant speculation. I want facts.”
“Then give me a chance to investigate,” Zimmer said, with just enough edge to get his point across. Cartwright sat down.
Ben found himself admiring Zimmer even more than he had before.
Zimmer moved to the communications station and talked to someone on the other end. Ben tried to eavesdrop but the chatter was too soft and too fast.
Sarie’s brassy southern drawl interrupted his reverie. “Somehow this wasn’t what I had in mind when I decided to go into politics.”
Ben nodded. “Wasn’t exactly what I was thinking when I went to law school.”
“I’ll bet you went to law school with grandiose notions of saving the world and helping those less fortunate than yourself.”
Ben shrugged. “Mostly I just wanted to irritate my father.”
Sarie laughed a little, which did a good deal to elevate his spirits. “Come to think of it, I think that was why I married my first husband.”
Zimmer returned to the table. “I have news,” he said. His eyes seemed to focus on the center of the table. “The missile just went down into the Potomac.”
Several jaws dropped. The silence spoke volumes. Ben knew what he was thinking, what they were all thinking. It really happened. It really happened.
“It exploded underwater. We don’t know of any casualties. At least not at this time. But as I’m sure you’re all aware… the Potomac is not far away.”
“How could this happen?” Sarie said quietly. “It’s impossible. Impossible.”
“Apparently not,” Ben replied quietly.
“We believe it was a theater ballistic missile-a short-range missile, basically. Range between three hundred and about thirty-five hundred kilometers. So called because it’s designed to be used against nearby targets-within the theater, so to speak. Although the warhead is capable of carrying a nuclear or even biological payload, this one, happily, did not.”
“But the next one might,” Cartwright spat out.
Zimmer ignored him. “That power blip was likely an EMP-electromagnetic pulse-from the explosion. It’s an electrical disruption that often follows a major detonation, even one non-nuclear in origin.”
“I still want to know what this is all about!” Cartwright said. “Is it Kuraq? Is that who’s doing this?”
“Sir,” Zimmer said, “I already told you I’m not authorized to-”
“Well, I am.” Behind him, Ben saw the president entering the room. Dr. Albertson followed just behind him.
Everyone began to rise, but he waved them back into their chairs. “Please remain seated. Is everyone comfortable? I mean, within reason, given the circumstances. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“You can tell us what the hell is going on,” Cartwright barked. “You’re the president, not a damned flight attendant.”
President Kyler gave him a patient, long-suffering look. “Can someone get me some coffee?”
“I’ll do it,” Zimmer said quickly. Ben was surprised to see a senior Secret Service agent fetching coffee, but he supposed it was a security measure.
The president took a sip of the hot coffee and then answered the admiral’s question. “Unfortunately, Admiral, I don’t know much more about the situation than you do. No one has claimed credit for the attack. We’ve been attempting to contact Colonel Zuko, but as you may be able to discern, he doesn’t always take my calls.”
“How are they doing this?” Secretary Ruiz asked.
“Somehow the enemy has managed to infiltrate our national defense computer systems. We’re not sure how. We believe they may have a high-tech satellite-maybe even something as low-riding as a dirigible-capable of penetrating our networks. But that’s speculation. Truth is, the only reason we suspect this…” He paused before continuing. “Is because we’ve been working on something like it ourselves.”
“Don’t we have antisatellite weaponry? Isn’t that what Sky King does?”
“It has been unable to locate the satellite. Or whatever it is.”
“How is that possible?”
The president’s shoulders rose and fell. “This is speculation, but our techies believe it must be equipped with some sort of cloaking device.”
“Cloaking device? I’ve never heard of that.”
“Sounds vaguely familiar, though,” Cartwright mused. “Have I heard about that at a briefing? Maybe related to the hypersonic attack missile project? Or from the papers on the planned orbiting antiballistic missile laser?”
“Star Trek,” Ben said softly.
“What?” Every head in the room turned his way, and Ben wished, not for the first time that day, that he had kept his mouth shut.
“That’s where you’ve heard the term. The Romulans had them on Star Trek. Cloaking devices. Made a ship invisible to another ship’s sensors.”
“But that’s poppycock!” Cartwright sputtered.
“Unfortunately,” President Kyler said, “whatever it is these people have, it’s all too real. And all too effective.”
“Isn’t there something we can do?” Rybicki asked.
“Believe me, we’re working on it. But so far we’ve been unable to get the invader out of the system. Or to detect the cause of the invasion.”
“How extensive is it?”
“We know they control the Vernon missile silo-the one closest to the White House. They’ve blocked us out of the whole control system.”
“Can we depower the system? Take them offline? Or drain the missiles of their fuel?”
“Unfortunately, the invaders are also capable of igniting that fuel and have sent an email indicating that they will if we attempt to drain or depower the missiles. Those missiles use RP-seven fuel. It burns at about five thousand degrees Fahrenheit. In other words, if it’s exploded, it will do almost as much damage as if they had fired the missiles.”
“How is this possible?”
“Whatever these people have, it appears to be at least two, three years down the technological line from anything we’ve developed.”
“So in effect, someone else is controlling our military weaponry,” Cartwright said.
“To the extent that our weaponry is controlled by computer, yes. But not the entire arsenal. Only a small portion of the missiles located on the East Coast. And none of them is believed to be a nuclear weapon.”
“So what is this small portion of non-nuclear missiles capable of doing?”
“As I understand it,” the president said grimly, “they could take out about half of the population of the East Coast.” He paused. “Some of the most densely inhabited parts of the United States.”
Secretary Rybicki jumped in. “This is unacceptable.”
“I agree,” President Kyler said firmly. Ben admired his steady resolve in the face of a major crisis. He was the absolute antithesis of the man Ben had witnessed only a few minutes before, the one who’d been singing about a hole in a bucket. “We’re exploring all possible options. And our intelligence forces are attempting to find out who’s behind it. In the meantime-”
“Mr. President!”
Kyler jerked his head around, his eyes fierce. It was just possible he had been interrupted one time too often.
“My apologies,” Agent Zimmer said. “But I thought you’d want to know this.”
“Well, what is it, then?”
Zimmer cleared his throat. “We have Colonel Zuko on the phone.”
Kyler’s eyes widened. “Thank God. How did you track him down?”
“To tell you the truth, sir, he called you.”
“What? But how-why-”
“He says he wants to talk to you.” Zimmer paused. His voice deepened. “He also says he wants to know how you enjoyed the gift he sent you. The one he had delivered to the Potomac.”
Ben felt a thudding in the pit of his stomach. So it was true. Kuraq-and its military dictator-were behind the attack. How else could Colonel Zuko have known?
“How did he get this number?” President Kyler whispered. He looked as if he had had the wind knocked out of his sails.
“I don’t know, sir,” Zimmer replied. “But I imagine that would be substantially simpler than infiltrating our military defense computers.”
“Good point. Can I take it in the briefing room?”
“Sorry, sir. The only phones are here. At the communications station.”
Kyler grimaced. “Put it on speaker.”
Zimmer nodded and pushed a button.
Ben knew Zuko had been educated at Western universities, and the combination of the elevated British accent and the clipped Middle Eastern tones was unsettling, particularly coming from a voice that seemed permeated by false congeniality.
“Good morning!” the voice over the intercom boomed, with such ebullience you might have thought it was coming from one of the president’s long-lost friends. “How are you, my American counterpart? Are you enjoying your life underground? And did you like your present?”
In this instance, the president’s unflappability was perhaps the only thing that kept most of the people in the room from descending into total panic. “I take it that you are claiming credit for the firing of a short-range missile into the Potomac.”
“My dear Mr. President,” the dictator said, “I take credit because it was I who did it, with the assistance of my scholars and advisors. Isn’t it amazing, the technological advances that are coming from… what is it you like to call us? The third world? Maybe it is time we were promoted.” The colonel chuckled, a bone-chilling laugh that had no mirth in it. “Perhaps it is you who represents the third world. Or the fourth. Possibly the fifth.”
“Colonel Zuko,” the president responded, “we have reason to believe that you have knowingly and purposely interfered with our defense computer networks. I am formally demanding that you cease and desist all interference immediately.”
“But my dear Mr. President, you are not in any position to make demands. So long as we control your missile systems, we can send a weapon to destroy any target in the eastern United States within five minutes.” He paused, and when his voice returned, it was slower, heavier, and absent the false amiability. “From here on out, it is I who will be making the demands.”
“We’ll find your satellite eventually,” the president said.
“Perhaps yes, perhaps no. But I believe time is on my side. You can rattle your sabers and desperately run about trying to catch up to me. In the meantime, I can destroy your people simply by making a phone call.”
“My people tell me that your control is spotty and inconsistent. You may be able to launch a few missiles, but certainly not all.”
“Mr. President, how many missiles do you think I need to bring your puny nation to its knees?”
The president’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You are the new Hitler.”
“Hitler? You self-righteous fool. Perhaps you should ask your secretary of defense to give you a history lesson when we are done talking. I understand he is a student of history. I am no Hitler, my friend. I’m the new George Washington. I am a freedom fighter. Everything I do is to free my people, to cast off the yoke of the bully tyrant nation that attempts to control us and treat us like slaves.”
“That’s absurd. We never-”
“Do not attempt to persuade me with your ethnocentric view of the world. The American oppressor interfered in the Middle East for fifty years, and now you are planning to bring your oppression to my country. I will not sit idly by and let my nation become the next Iraq. We will fight. I have a duty to my people.”
“You weren’t even elected by the people. You took over by military force.”
“And if I recall correctly, there was much military force involved in the formation of your own country, true? Of course there was. But I did not call to debate history. You have declared war on my nation. And this is a war I intend to win.”
“We never declared war on Kuraq.”
“Your troops are just outside our gates! I can see them now on our radar. Do you expect me to wait until it’s too late to respond? I will not.”
“If you fire another one of those missiles, people will die.”
“In every war there is collateral damage. But still the war must be fought. The price of freedom is eternal vigilance. Did George Washington take lives at Yorktown? I believe he did, but he did it to defeat Cornwallis and to secure a new nation. I will do nothing less for my own. You may label me a madman if that makes it easier to carry out your aggressions. But I am a patriot, sir. A patriot. And like any good patriot, I will defend my nation till my dying breath.”
“What’s this all about, Zuko? Why now?” While he spoke, the president was gesturing to Zimmer, who was quietly whispering into another line. Ben couldn’t know for certain, but he assumed they were making an effort to trace the call. Did that mean they thought he might be somewhere nearby? It seemed impossible. Or perhaps they knew he was in Kuraq and were trying to target him for some kind of military strike. “All we’ve asked is that you let our people cross your border and perform a simple rescue operation.”
“Do not treat me like a fool, Mr. President. I may be many things, but foolish is not among them. I hold all the cards in this poker game. Do not pretend that we do not both know that your military forces have been swarming around our borders for weeks. We have intelligence, too, sir. I have seen your aircraft carriers in the Gulf.”
“They are in those waters on peaceful missions and with the permission of the Saudi Arabian government.”
“Do not treat me like a child!” Zuko barked. “I know what the planes aboard that ship are capable of doing. You have a least a thousand troops ready to invade at your command. I know that you have aircraft in Saudi Arabia that can be in our airspace in fewer than twenty minutes! I know you have planned an invasion of my sovereign state. Your own people have confessed it to me. Under torture, yes, but they confessed just the same.”
The mention of torture cast dread into the hearts of everyone in the room. Zimmer was at a computer keyboard now. He appeared to be pulling up some kind of logistical or tactical information. Aerial maps came and went with such speed that Ben could not identify them.
“Does that mean you’re responsible for the Mymidon attack and kidnapping?” the president asked.
“I assumed you would know it was me, given how flawlessly the operation was executed. Today’s exercise will be no different. You are but the sand of the desert in my hands, Mr. President. You will bend to the shape and will of my hand, or you will slip through my fingers and fall apart. Permanently.”
The president sat down in the chair at the head of the table. He leaned in very close to the speakerphone. “And was it also your highly efficient men who raided the Arlington armory a few hours ago?”
Ben held his breath and waited for the answer. If this sadistic madman had a portable nuclear device, they would be permanently helpless, even if they did recover control of the computer networks.
“Do you not understand, Mr. President? We are everywhere. We control everything. And now you will do everything I request-everything! Or the consequences will be horrible.”
“Colonel Zuko, I will not permit you to commit genocide in the Benzai Strip.”
“What action I take I do to secure our borders. And that is no business of yours! But it does not matter. There is nothing you can do about it.”
Although he wasn’t taking notes, Ben had been clenching his pencil with a white-knuckled grip throughout the entire conversation. He dropped his pencil, and without really thinking about it, bent down to pick it up.
While bent over, he looked under the table.
The president’s feet were moving. Not swaying. Not tapping. But tap-dancing. Moving back and forth in a sprightly manner that did not affect what the others saw above the table. One of the darker secrets in Ben’s past was that in the second grade his mother had forced him to take tap-dancing lessons. He knew a shuffle-ball-change when he saw it.
A foreign dictator was threatening to take out a large portion of the nation. And the president was tap-dancing.
The president and Zuko continued talking. Ben knew his expression must have changed, because Sarie gave him a concerned look. “Is something wrong?” she whispered.
He pointed under the table and mouthed, “Look.”
“Trying to get a look at my cleavage?”
Ben’s face flushed. He continued pointing.
She looked.
When her face came up again, it was ashen.
“What’s going on?” Ben whispered.
She spread her hands wide in a gesture of bafflement and helplessness.
Ben didn’t know what to make of her reaction. But the situation didn’t seem to be shocking her as much as it was him. He asked: “Have you seen this before?”
She hesitated before making any response, then, with considerable reluctance, nodded.
“What’s going on?”
She shrugged.
“What does his doctor say?”
She shrugged again, then added quietly, “He’s concerned.”
Ben was glad to hear Dr. Albertson understood the president was exhibiting strange behavior, but somehow concerned didn’t seem nearly adequate.
“How long?” Ben asked, careful not to attract attention.
Sarie thought for a while before answering. “Month or so.”
“Who else knows?”
She shrugged again.
Ben thought about that for a moment. More than once he had been amazed by the number of people the president met in the course of a single day. If he had been exhibiting these strange symptoms for a month, anyone could know.
Even the dictator of a foreign nation.
Ben began to whisper again, then caught a glance of Admiral Cartwright on the opposite end of the table, glaring at him. He felt as if he were being scolded for telling secrets in class.
The conversation with Zuko must have been reaching a fevered peak, because for the first time ever, Ben heard the president raise his voice.
“Colonel Zuko, the United States will not tolerate this!”
“When will you get it through your sun-baked brain that you have no choice in the matter?”
“We do not stand alone in the world, Colonel. The United Nations will not-”
“The United Nations is only as strong as the United States, and at the moment the United States is helpless.”
“We are not the only superpower.”
“Who do you think will come to your rescue? Russia has far greater ties to the Middle East than to you. China owns you. You may have allies on paper, but what can any of them do for you? You stand alone in the world. You stand at my mercy.”
In the corner, Zimmer, still wearing communications headphones and staring at a computer screen, gave the president a signal. Ben didn’t know what it meant, but his face seemed to have at least a trace of optimism.
“My people are already working on this problem, Colonel. It won’t be long before we pry you out of our computers.”
“It will be too late, Mr. President, because you have only thirty minutes before I let the next missile fly.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
“No, it is you who is making the mistake, a tragic one. You will withdraw your troops, and not just away from my borders, but from the entire Gulf. You will withdraw your forces from the Middle East, from our borders, from Saudi Arabia, from Iraq. Everywhere.”
“That’s insane!”
“My spy satellites are watching you. I know the truth, even if you do not care to reveal it to me. And I will not tolerate this.” He paused. When his voice returned, it was somewhat calmer. “I am not a barbarian. I am a civilized man. I will give you thirty minutes to order your men to retreat. If you have not begun to retreat in that time, I will launch the next missile. And this one will find civilian targets. That I can guarantee you.”
“Colonel, be reasonable-”
“Do not presume to give orders to me! I am not the one poised to invade your soil!” He sounded agitated, his voice jumping wildly in pitch and volume. “We do not meddle in the affairs of others. We do not attempt to play gendarme for the entire world. The American reign of terror has come to an end. You have meddled in the Middle East long enough, as your thirst for oil brought you to increasingly stupid decisions, extending your resources, living beyond your means, living the decadent lifestyle of high consumption and low productivity. Those days are done, Mr. President. You will withdraw your forces immediately. Or your people will face the consequences.”
“I can’t do that, Colonel. Not while you still occupy the Benzai Strip. Do you hear me?” There was no response. “Do you hear me?”
Still no response.
“I won’t abandon our personnel. The people who went down in that helicopter are U.S. citizens. We have the right to retrieve them!”
Still no response.
“Are you listening to me, Colonel?”
When the colonel’s voice finally returned, it possessed an eerie calm that Ben found positively chilling. “Your time begins… now.”
Seamus McKay climbed into the driver’s seat of the beat-up Dodge the Company had loaned him for in-city work, grousing once more about how screwed up the whole system really was. The terrorists had better weapons than they did, better intel than they had, and perhaps most gratingly, better cars than they got. And yet they were supposed to track these people down and apprehend them-while of course being scrupulous about not violating their civil rights.
Good luck.
Come to think of it, he might have violated eight or ten civil rights during that brawl at the Washington Monument, but he had prevented the ugly obelisk from being blown to pieces, so he hoped that would be the primary focus of the debrief. Well, he could hope, anyway.
His whole midsection ached. He must’ve sprained something when he pulled his entire body weight up to the second level where the sniper was perched. He needed to get to the gym more often than he did, keep those abs in shape. But as his chronological age crept ever closer to fifty, the urgency of befriending the Nautilus machines seemed to subside. Wasn’t he getting too old for this life? Coming stateside had been a step in the right direction. Did he really want to spend the rest of his life chasing after the kind of scum who would rob a nuclear armory?
Speaking of which, he’d better phone in an early report. The security cops at the monument must’ve contacted his office by now. He’d better make sure his superiors got his side of the story, as quickly as possible. As he pulled onto the parkway, he dialed his cell with his left hand.
“Zira?”
“I’m here, Seamus. What the hell is going on?”
As succinctly as possible, Seamus tried to bring her up-to-date, explaining how he had followed the trail from the Arlington armory, using a tip from a trusted informant, caught up to the thieves just as they left their hideout, and followed them all the way to the Washington Monument. He left out most of the details of the fight, just mentioning in passing that he had taken out several men single-handedly.
“But one got away? With the suitcase?”
Count on Zira to accentuate the negative. “Unfortunately. I couldn’t be in four places at once.”
“So you took down three men of no importance and let the one with the nuke escape?”
“I took the fourth down, too. Unfortunately, he got back up again.”
He could hear a tsking sound on the other end of the connection. “I think this is another example of incredibly poor judgment, Seamus. Just the latest of many such instances.”
How had he ever ended up with a female operations chief, anyway? With her high heels and her perfectly tailored suits, she wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes in Afghanistan. Did someone in Washington think this was politically correct?
“I saved the monument,” Seamus said curtly. “And there were no casualties.”
“Yet,” she rejoined without waiting a breath. “But since there’s a maniac out there with a nuclear device, how long will that remain true?”
Seamus stifled the instinct to swear. “Look, I’ve still got some leads. I saw a couple of things out there that might indicate where this guy will go next. I’ll follow up.”
“No, Seamus. You won’t.”
He swerved his car onto M Street and pulled into the far lane. “Are you kidding? I’m the one who found these clowns. No one knows more about them than me.”
“Nonetheless, you-”
“I’ll come in and do a full debrief and report later. Promise. But I’ve got to cover the field while the trail is still hot.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Are you listening to me?” Seamus practically shouted into the receiver. “These guys stole a nuke and they’re planning to use it.”
“Yes,” Zira replied, “and sadly enough, that is not the most urgent threat facing our nation today.”
“What are you talking about?”
“How much do you know about Kuraq and its current leader, Colonel Zuko?”
Seamus resisted the temptation to say, “A hell of a lot more than you.” “Plenty. Kuraq isn’t that far from Afghanistan or Iran. I’ve seen Zuko in action, back before he took control.”
“Good. How would you describe him?”
“Smart. Western-educated. Insecure about his military position, which is likely to make him dangerous.”
“You’re certainly right about the last part. Zuko has somehow infiltrated our military defense computers and seized control of some of our ballistic missiles.”
Seamus’s eyes bulged. “More nukes?”
“No, conventional explosives, at least at this time. But very powerful. Capable of making a very big hole in the ground.”
Seamus ground his teeth together. “How did he do it?”
“Our computer guys are still investigating. The most popular theory is that he’s launched a spy satellite that has a powerful computer-hacking ability.”
“His computer geeks came up with something before our geeks did?”
“It’s looking that way.”
Seamus took a deep breath. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
“You’ll be putting in overtime.”
“More than that. Think about it. Someone robs a highly secret and heavily guarded nuclear armory. Someone hacks into our computers and seizes control of our missiles. Both on the same day? You got to think it’s the same people, executing some well-planned and highly coordinated attack against the United States. And there’s only one way that would be possible.”
“Do enlighten me, Seamus.”
He hesitated several beats before he could make himself say it. “We’ve got a mole.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am. It’s the only possible explanation. Zuko shouldn’t even know about the Arlington facility. Most people don’t. And I don’t care how good his hacking program is-I don’t believe he could get into the military defense system without inside help. Someone passed him some back doors to ease his entry.”
He was gratified to hear that, for once, Zira didn’t immediately snap back with a response. “That is a singularly disturbing possibility.”
“And a very real one. You need to start running the A-Alpha Shadow protocols. Find the mole. Look for someone on the inside who has been making unexplained phone calls to unlisted numbers. Especially foreign numbers. Find out if anyone has recently had a significant unexplained cash infusion to their bank account.”
“I know how to find a mole, Mr. McKay, thank you very much.”
Seamus smiled. It gave him pleasure to think he had gotten that officious bureaucrat’s goat.
“And what will you be doing, if I may ask?”
“I’m not sure,” Seamus replied. “I guess I’ll consult my computer expert. Find out how this might have been done. Who could have engineered it. If you really think this takes priority over the nuclear suitcase.”
“It does. We have no direct evidence-other than your unsubstantiated suggestion that they were going to detonate it in the monument-that the suitcase will be used anytime soon. But we have a direct threat from Zuko that a missile will be launched shortly. If you can figure out how to get him out of our computers, we need that intel immediately.”
“Then that’s what I’ll do.”
“Good. Get to it.” She paused. “Don’t bother calling in to the president. He’s in the bunker. You can’t get through. I can contact him via his Secret Service detail. I’ll pass along what you’ve learned.”
“Okay.” Seamus swerved his car around into the opposite lane and headed back the way he came. This new assignment called for a course correction.
“Call me the moment you learn anything.”
“I will.”
“And Seamus.” The edge fell out of her voice, but it was replaced by something darker and more urgent. “Understand that this is not just another assignment. You may have done decent reconnaissance work in the Middle East, but this isn’t contingent or theoretical. Those missiles are pointed right down our throats. This threat could bring down the presidency. This threat could take hundreds of thousands of lives and revert the East Coast to the Stone Age.” Her voice dropped another notch. “This could be the end of the United States as you and I know it.”
Agent Zimmer rose to his feet, one hand pressed against his left earpiece. “We’ve lost the connection, sir.”
“Get Zuko back!” the president snapped.
“We didn’t lose him.” After a moment Zimmer added quietly, “He hung up.”
A brief silence ensued as Ben and everyone else in the bunker contemplated the confidence of a man who felt sufficiently secure to hang up on the president of the United States.
“I want him back on the line as soon as possible,” the president said firmly.
“Yes, sir. But Mr. President…” Zimmer pointed toward a screen at the top of the communications station.
They were marking the colonel’s countdown. Time was slipping away, all too fast.
“I know I can make the man see reason,” the president said. “Just get him back on the line.”
“I’ll do my best, sir.” Zimmer sat and returned his attention to the screen.
All at once, the lights and power began to flicker again. The lights shuddered on and off for several seconds, then actually went out altogether.
“What the hell?”
“What’s going on?”
“Who’s in charge here? Is anyone in charge?”
Ben recognized the last voice as Admiral Cartwright’s, but the panic and tumult were becoming so frenzied that after that it was hard to hear anything.
Then the lights came back on. A few moments later, power returned to the communications station and the screens. Ben heard the familiar whirring sound that told him computers were rebooting.
“What just happened?” the president said evenly.
“I don’t know,” Agent Zimmer said, motioning to another agent. “I’m sending people topside to find out.” Two of the agents streamed out the door.
“Aren’t all these power lines secure?”
“They should be, sir. The bunker has its own power conduits, and like the bunker itself, they’re designed to withstand a nuclear blast. Even the EMP from a nearby missile detonation shouldn’t cause more than temporary interference.”
“Find out what’s happening!”
“Already on it.”
“Good.” The president leaned forward, one hand squeezing the bridge of his nose.
Cartwright saw his opening. “Mr. President-”
President Kyler held up his hand, silencing him. “Just give me one damn moment.” He breathed in deeply, then released it, then did it again, then again, each time digging more desperately for air. He began to wheeze. “Doctor?”
Dr. Albertson walked to his side and presented what appeared to be an asthma inhaler. Ben had had no idea the president suffered from asthma. That had never been mentioned during the campaign or, to his knowledge, afterward. How had they kept it a secret? Or was this a symptom that had developed more recently, perhaps another sign of the great strain of the presidency?
President Kyler took two gigantic whiffs from the inhaler. A few moments later his breathing began to normalize.
“Mr. President,” Cartwright launched again, but Kyler waved him away.
“Zimmer,” he said, his voice subdued and remarkably calm, given the circumstances, “I want all the monuments on the National Mall closed. No, on second thought, make that all the monuments in Washington. Close them down and tell the folks to go home.”
“But Mr. President,” Secretary Ruiz objected, “if you do that, it could cause a panic.”
“I’d rather have panic than casualties. Colonel Zuko will be looking for symbolic targets. Dramatic demonstrations of his protest against our way of life. I think there are many in D.C. that would serve his purpose all too well. Close them down.”
Zimmer nodded. “Will do, sir.”
“Send a memo through military channels to other high-profile potential targets on the East Coast. Wall Street. The Statue of Liberty. Disney World. They need to know that today might be a good day to close up shop.”
“ If Wall Street shuts down early-”
“They can come up with some explanation that doesn’t involve a terrorist threat. They’ve done it before.” The president turned toward the communications station, where Zimmer was already hard at work. “Can you get me an update on the people who went down in that helicopter behind the Kuraqi border? I’d like to know if they’ve already been captured. If they’re POWs.”
“And if they are?” Secretary Rybicki asked.
“Then we have an even better excuse to bring our troops across his border.”
“Did you not listen to the man? He’s launching a missile in only a few minutes. If you invade, he’s likely to fire them all.”
“I assure you, Mr. Secretary, that I heard every word Zuko said. And I don’t have time for a review. Ben?”
Ben looked up abruptly. He had become so absorbed in the ongoing drama that he had almost forgotten that he was technically a member of the president’s staff, too.
“Yes, sir?”
“Give me a very quick brief on our international rights with regard to Kuraq. What’s the law? Does he have the right to defend himself in this way? What difference does the presence of our troops make? After all, we’re there with the express permission of a Middle Eastern nation.”
Ben took a deep breath. “As you probably know, sir, what we call international law isn’t really law at all. It is simply a hodgepodge of various conventions and agreements that have arisen over time, starting in the Middle Ages in, ironically, the Middle East. These have established values and procedures over time-but they are hard to enforce with a nonparticipating nation. You can get a judgment in the World Court, but how do you enforce it? You can get a proclamation from the United Nations, but what impact will that have on a nation such as Kuraq, which has refused entry to UN weapons inspectors for the past five years?”
President Kyler nodded grimly. “And I think now we can see why. They’ve been working on something big. Something they didn’t want anyone else to know about.”
“Last I heard, our ships were still waiting outside the twelve-mile limit, in international waters. If they come within twelve miles of the Kuraqi coast, however, we will be violating their territory as defined by the relevant UN charter agreement.”
“But we have the invitation of the Saudi Arabian government.”
“I know. But since when did one nation have the ability to waive the rights of another? Never, I hope. Does Canada have the ability to authorize Kuraq to invade U.S. airspace? I hope not.”
“I see your point. But this is different. Our intelligence data suggest that they plan-may have already begun-the systematic slaughter of the people on the Benzai Strip.”
“Then the appropriate course of action would be to obtain UN authorization. That’s what George Bush did-the first one. The UN Security Council authorized an invasion after Iraq invaded Kuwait. Over three dozen member nations participated, although of course the United States played the primary role.”
“His son didn’t have UN authorization to invade Iraq.”
“No, he didn’t, and partly as a result, his coalition was much feebler and the action never gained worldwide support. Most foreign nations viewed it as a war of aggression, not of liberation.”
“I’ve had my men working on the UN for weeks. So far we haven’t been able to get anything.”
“You’re suffering the negative fallout of previous U.S. actions in the Middle East. Just when it looked as if we might finally be getting out of the Middle East, here we come again, wanting to invade someone else.”
“I know, I know.” The president’s fingers began to bounce on the tabletop. Maybe it was just Ben, but the pattern looked all too much like the same little dance he had seen the man’s feet performing under the table. “But we can’t stand by and watch this barbarian slaughter an entire region!”
“But we do not have authority to invade.”
“ Clinton sent our troops into Bosnia.”
“Yes, but Clinton was acting under the direct authority of NATO, and there was clear evidence of the planned genocide against Bosnian Muslims and had been for years. After those broken and emaciated faces played on television, he had the support he needed-at least for a while. Our evidence about what’s going on in Benzai is-forgive me, Mr. President-considerably more sketchy. And we don’t have the authority of NATO or the UN or anyone else.”
“At this rate, Ben, if I wait for that, those people will be dead. Tens of thousands of them.”
“I understand your position, Mr. President. But my job is to advise you on the law. And that’s what it is.”
“Pardon me for butting in,” Cartwright said.
Ben’s eyebrows knitted together. Had Cartwright ever shown the remotest reluctance to butt in before?
“I thought you were working on some energy lawsuit, Mr. Kincaid. Since when did you become an expert on international law?”
“I’m like a well-tuned PC,” Ben replied. “I can multitask. I’ve been around awhile, and I’ve held many different positions. And with respect, Admiral, all I did was answer the president’s questions. I never suggested I was any kind of expert.”
The president waved the strife away. “I know this much, Admiral. He’s the leading expert on international law currently in this bunker.”
Cartwright grudgingly acknowledged the point.
Kyler turned back to Ben. “What about his claim that he has the right to fire our missiles?”
“I can’t imagine that there’s anything anywhere in international law that would support that claim, regardless of what we’ve got next door to him in Saudi Arabia. So long as we remain in international waters-”
“But that’s the problem.”
The president’s interruption caught Ben-and everyone else in the bunker-by surprise. The short hairs on the back of Ben’s neck stood on end. He had the distinct feeling this case was about to get a good deal more complicated.
“I gave the commanders the order to start moving in this morning. Slowly! But still, they’ve crossed into Kuraqi waters.”
Secretary Ruiz leaned forward. “Why wasn’t I told about this?”
“You would’ve been told in due time.”
“In due time? I’m the secretary of state!”
“I think we all know that, Mike.”
“You have an obligation to consult with me on major foreign policy matters.”
“I did consult with you, Mike,” the president said wearily. “I just didn’t do what you wanted. I’m pretty sure I have that power. I think it comes with the presidential seal.”
Ruiz folded his arms across his chest and glared.
“I’m afraid this does change everything,” Ben said, filling in the dead air.
The president did not respond immediately. Ben assumed that was because he already knew what the answer would be.
“How do you mean, Ben?” Sarie asked.
He decided to answer, if not for the president, for the sake of everyone else in the room. “If we have crossed Kuraq’s borders, the colonel could easily call that an act of war. Come to think of it, he was talking about war during that phone conversation, wasn’t he?”
“I can’t stand by and let him butcher those people!” the president said. His lips trembled as he spoke. His eyes watered. Ben hoped to God he didn’t cry.
“I understand the consequences. But we have invaded his territory.”
“And his claim to the Benzai Strip is feeble at best.”
“But we haven’t invaded Benzai, right? We’ve invaded Kuraq. And if Colonel Zuko deems that an invasion, he can make a retaliatory declaration of war. And at that point-well, let’s face it. He can do anything he wants. Anything he can get away with.”
“Even explode bombs on our land?”
“Is there some rule that wars must always be fought on other people’s soil? I don’t think so. In World War II, we firebombed Dresden. We nuked Japan. I think in Colonel Zuko’s mind, he’s in exactly the same position we were then, and has the same right to take action. To destroy his enemy. To win the war.”
President Kyler brushed his eyes clear, then rose. “Agent Zimmer, have you done as I asked?”
“Yes, sir. All federal institutions in D.C. are closed or closing.”
“Good.”
“Haven’t gotten an update on the men who went down in the helicopter. But we’re working on it.”
“Please do. I’d feel better about this if I knew that those people were safe.”
Ruiz made a harrumphing sound. “How can anyone be safe while that madman is controlling our missiles?”
“Zimmer,” the president continued, “I want you to find the vice president and patch him into this conversation. He needs to know what’s going on. Just in case… you know.”
Zimmer cleared his throat. “That’s going to be a lot easier than you might imagine, sir.”
The president tilted his head, obviously puzzled. “And why?”
At that moment the main doors opened and the question was answered without a word.
The new addition to the ranks of those locked down in the bunker, flanked by four Secret Service agents, was Vice President Conrad Swinburne.
Seamus pulled his Dodge up the driveway beside an apartment at the south end of the Georgetown Flats, residential housing for graduate students at Georgetown University. He wondered if he should have called ahead. On one hand, there was always value in surprise, particularly if you were planning to ask for a big favor and didn’t want the target to have much time to consider all the sound reasons to say no. On the other hand, a little warning might give his informant time to conduct research or, at the very least, be home when Seamus arrived.
It was a difficult decision, but as usual, Seamus came down on the side of surprise. Perhaps it was the result of too much time in the Middle East, where his targets had a tendency not only to not be at home but to be in another country if they knew he was dropping by. Maybe it just better suited his personal style.
He got out of the car and glanced up at the second-story apartment. No lights visible in the window, but that didn’t mean much. It was morning, and besides people like this target didn’t have much need for overhead lighting. They could survive by the dim blue glow of the computer screen.
Seamus had first encountered RossumRulz not quite a year earlier, while doing research on a new algorithm that was being used to break into scientific facilities, including some covertly operated by the U.S. government. They had suspected terrorists at first-that was everyone’s first-blush instinct in the post-9/11 world. Turned out to be industrial espionage, corporate spooks hoping to discover the next big thing before their competitors did. But in the course of doing research on the Internet-where else?-he came across someone who worked under the name of RossumRulz, a tribute presumably to the inventor of the Python operating language. Not only was he more knowledgeable about these decryption algorithms than anyone else Seamus had encountered, he was able to deduce that there were only three people capable of devising such a program.
Turned out he was right. Seamus nabbed the culprit on his second try and brought the whole security breach to a satisfying conclusion. He had offered to treat RossumRulz to a steak dinner at the Four Seasons, but the informant had declined. Apparently he wanted to maintain his anonymity. Which made Seamus all the more determined to know who and where he was. Just in case.
That part was a cinch. People talked about how there were no skid marks on the information superhighway, but there were, especially when you had the ability to serve a subpoena on the ISP. RossumRulz had cleverly disguised his server by doubling back through several blind alleys and having his own home miniserver, but Seamus still found him. He didn’t introduce himself. He had no need to at that time. But he definitely filed the name and address away for future reference. For when he needed it.
The time had come.
Seamus walked briskly up the outside stairs to the top level, then knocked on the door.
Maybe a minute later, a kid opened the door. Seamus knew he was twenty-three, but he didn’t look it. He was maybe five foot four and had dark, shaggy, curly hair that fell down on all sides as if he were using gravity for his styling gel. Perhaps a latter-day tribute to the early Beatles. He wasn’t obese but soft in the middle, which was about what Seamus might expect from someone who spent his whole life in front of a computer, seeing the light of day only when a new Star Wars picture was released.
“Here’s twenty bucks,” the kid said. “Where’s the pizza?”
Seamus smiled. “I’m not the pizza boy.”
“Oh, sorry.” He started to shut the door.
Seamus wedged his foot inside, stopping it. “I want to talk to you.”
“I don’t need any magazine subscriptions.”
Jeez, was his suit that bad? “I’m not selling magazines.”
“Whatever it is you’re selling, I don’t want any. I buy online exclusively from Cheap Deals.”
“I’m from the government,” Seamus said.
The kid’s expression froze. “Are-are you a cop?”
“Sort of. I’m looking for Arlo Patterson.”
“Oh. Oh!” He slapped his forehead in a particularly unconvincing display. “Arlo doesn’t live here anymore. He moved two apartments over.” He leaned in a little bit. “I think he was trying to get a line on the girls’ dormitory. He can do amazing things with that telescope of his. His parents actually believed that he was interested in astronomy. Isn’t that incredible?”
Seamus smiled thinly. He hoped this kid didn’t use a webcam to tell chicks he was buff, because he was the worst liar Seamus had met in his entire career. This guy had probably never lied in his entire life, except when his friends asked if he was still a virgin. “Look, Arlooo,” he said, making the name sound as stupid as possible, which didn’t take much, “I’m investigating a major terrorist threat and I don’t have much time, so are you going to let me in or am I going to knock you down, tie you to the radiator, and torture you till you tell me what I want to know?”
Arlo’s voice jumped an octave. “Come on in.”
Seamus stepped inside. The apartment was even more revolting than he had imagined. He had expected the inches of dust and decaying pizza boxes. But the Captain Picard action figures? That was just embarrassing.
“Look,” Seamus began, “we know each other. Sort of. You helped me find the people who broke into the Merski Institute. I was working under the user name BoldDragon.”
“BoldDragon. Sure, I remember. Very modest.”
“Well, it was my code name overseas.”
“And I’ll bet you chose it. You should really work on those self-esteem issues.”
“I need your help again, kid. There’s a Middle Eastern kook who has hacked into the military computers that control some of our East Coast ballistic missile systems.”
Arlo made a long whistling sound. “Sweet.”
“Not so much, kid. Especially since the next missile might be coming right to your backyard.”
“Is that what happened out in the Potomac? I knew that wasn’t any gas explosion. That was a cover story, right?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny. But give me the benefit of your expertise. They think this guy may have a satellite that’s programmed to do the hacking. How would that work?”
“They’d need an operations base. Probably not too far from the computers they’re hacking into. They’d also need a seriously invasive program. I’m assuming the Pentagon has pretty decent firewalls in place.”
“I think that’s a safe bet. So how hard would this be?”
Arlo walked to his desk and plopped down in the swivel chair facing his computer screen. The computer itself and its ancillary parts covered not only the entire desk but half the available floor space. “Know anything about GhostNet?”
Seamus searched his memory. That rang a bell… perhaps a memo he had half read. The tech stuff wasn’t his strong suit. It had never had much relevance out in the desert. “Refresh my memory.”
“Back in ’09 it came out that this vast electronic spying operation had infiltrated one thousand two hundred ninety-five computers in government and private offices in one hundred three countries.”
“One hundred three? That’s, like, every country with computers.”
“Just about. They got caught by a brain trust up in Toronto. They stole documents, most of them classified. They hacked into embassies, foreign ministries. The program was being operated out of China. Which might explain why-get this-they even hacked the Dalai Lama. Can you imagine? What kind of people sic malware on the Dalai Lama?”
“Seriously bad people.”
“I guess so. They also concentrated on the South Asian and Southeast Asian countries.”
“Definitely the Chinese.”
“And they were able to do it because they had a really good program. This malware-that’s short for malicious software-didn’t just phish for random information. It whaled for particular targets. Important stuff. Totally Big Brother. It could even turn on deactivated web-cams and mikes to eavesdrop.”
“Get out of here.”
“It’s true.”
“Did they get the United States?”
“Not as far as we know-but if the Chinese could do it to others back then, how long before someone else can do it to us? Not long, I think. All they need is the right program. And if they’ve got a satellite to direct it, there’s even less chance of the infiltration being detected.”
“And what if they’ve got a mole inside the military?”
“Someone who could feed them passwords and tell them about back doors? Cakewalk. Hell, I could probably do it with that information.”
“Could you stop someone else from doing it? Boot them out of the computer system?”
Arlo thought a few moments before answering. “Maybe. It’s hard to reverse-engineer malware. And I’ll bet those Pentagon boys are already working on getting that virus out of their system.”
“That’s a safe bet. What would be the safest-or quickest-way to terminate their control over the computers?”
Arlo pondered. “If you could find the operations base, you could shut down the command signal. If no one’s guiding the satellite, then the satellite stops hacking.”
Seamus stepped forward eagerly. “Great. How do we find this base?”
Arlo shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Who would be capable of doing this?”
“The Chinese.”
“I mean domestically. If you were looking for a hacking expert, whom would you call?”
He didn’t have to think long. “Me.”
Seamus arched an eyebrow. “Who’s got self-esteem issues now?”
“Hey, I’m good enough to be your expert.”
“Yeah, but I assume you’d remember if you’d designed any malware for Middle Eastern dictators.”
“I should hope so. The only gig I’ve ever done anything like that for was-Oh. Wait a minute. Oh, no. Ohhhh, nooooo.”
Seamus pulled him up to his feet. “What is it? What did you do?”
“It was so long ago, I barely remembered. Almost a month.”
“What did you do?”
“These guys wanted to prank the university, so they wanted some targeted malware, something that could hack into a well-protected system. But they weren’t Middle Eastern. They were preppies. They were-”
“Employees, most likely, you stooge.”
“They didn’t say they were going after the military.”
“Imagine that.”
“And they said nothing about a satellite.”
“Because they’re not stupid.”
“And even as good as I am, I don’t think it was good enough to hack into the military defense system. It might be able to seize control once it’s in, but there’s no way it could get past all the firewalls and defenses.”
“But what if the people you sold the program to also had top-secret passwords and back-door information?”
Arlo’s mouth formed a silent o. “That would be bad. That would be real bad.”
“Yeah, it is. Come on, kid.” Semus tugged forcefully at his elbow. “You’re coming with me.”
“But I’ve got class today.”
“I’ll give you a note from the doctor. Bring a copy of your program.”
“I don’t have one!”
“What?”
“That’s part of the deal. They bought exclusive rights. No copies allowed.”
“Did you keep any notes?”
He shrugged. “Not so much.”
“Could you at least explain what you did to our computer experts?”
“I guess I could try.”
“Good. I want you to try very hard.” Seamus led him toward the door. “I want you to think about it in advance so when we get there you-”
Seamus was cut off by a sudden spray of broken glass flying across the room.
“Duck!” he shouted, shoving the kid to the ground.
He watched as a parallel line of bullets crashed into the opposite wall. He heard a harsh rat-a-tat sound, followed by more flying glass and another spray of bullets.
“Great,” Seamus muttered. “Stay down!”
He reached under his coat and pulled his pistol out of its holster. He brought his arms up over the desk and fired wildly out the window, pointing downward. He covered a wide range. He couldn’t possibly see who was firing from this angle-but the shooter didn’t have to know that.
It didn’t suppress fire for long. Another long rain of bullets came flying through the windows. Seamus huddled over Arlo. He didn’t think the bullets could get them here, but even glass could be deadly at this velocity.
He returned fire.
Arlo stared at his gun. “What the hell is that?”
Seamus grunted, speaking as he fired. “That is my official Company-issued weapon.”
“But the guy outside’s got a submachine gun! How do they expect you to take on guys like that with a peashooter?”
Tell me something I don’t already know, Seamus thought. He squeezed off another round, then ducked behind the desk.
“Who is that?”
“Don’t know. Probably one of those preppies you work for.”
“You think he wants his money back?”
“No. I think he wants you dead.”
“Why?”
“So you won’t tell anyone what you just told me.”
“But it’s too late!”
He shook his head. “Not if he kills me, too.”
He fired another round, then ducked back behind the desk.
The bullets stopped.
“Does that mean he went away?” Arlo whispered.
“In the first place,” Seamus said, “I wouldn’t assume there was only one. In the second place, I doubt it. We’re totally pinned down. Why leave? Why not finish off the job?”
“Oh.”
“Look, kid, focus on the door. When I count to three, I want you to make a run-”
His sentence trailed off as more glass blasted into the room. A small canister plopped down on the floor only a few feet away from them.
It was round and indented like a pineapple.
Arlo made a sucking sound with his throat. “Is that-a grenade?”
“I’m not sure,” Seamus said, inching forward, careful not to get in the way of another round of bullets. “It might just-”
The lid popped off. Seamus heard a hissing noise, then, a moment later, a colorless gas sprayed out of the canister.
“Oh, no,” Seamus said. “Oh, Jesus God.”
“What is it?”
“Bad news.”
Arlo grabbed his arm. “Bad? How bad?”
Seamus shook his head. “We’re dead.”
President Kyler stared at the vice president with something like a combination of horror and disbelief. “Good God, Connie-what the hell are you doing here?”
Swinburne smiled faintly. “Good to see you, too, Roland.”
“Don’t take it personally, man-you were supposed to be a long way from here by now.”
One of the agents guarding Swinburne handed Zimmer a sheet of paper. Zimmer glanced at it, nodded. “They didn’t make it out, sir. We didn’t move fast enough. I take full responsibility for this failure.”
“I don’t care about who is to blame, Zimmer. I want to know what happened.”
“We got the vice president to Air Force One, but before they could take off, the missile in the Potomac exploded. We deemed it too risky to take to P-fifty-three airspace with the possibility of guided missiles that near. And now we know Colonel Zuko controls some of our missiles-”
“I get the picture, Zimmer. You did the right thing.” President Kyler stared at the next person in the line of succession to his office. “I’m glad you’re safe, Connie. But I’m not glad you’re here.”
“Understood, sir. If you’d like, I can retire to the other room.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. If you’re stuck here, you should know what’s going on. But Zimmer-notify the Speaker of the House. Just in case.”
Just in case they should have to tap the third in the constitutional line of succession? Ben felt a chill run right down his spine.
He watched the interplay between Kyler and Swinburne carefully. Even though they had been running mates, Ben knew they were not close. Kyler was far more liberal and they differed on many key policy issues, differences Swinburne had been forced to bury to get the vice presidential ticket. They were almost fifteen years apart in age-Swinburne was older-and they had radically different backgrounds. Kyler had grown up poor; Swinburne was privileged. And they came from opposite ends of the country. Swinburne had originally run for president and accepted the vice presidential slot only after it became clear Kyler had clinched the nomination. Even then, the selection was not made based upon any mutual respect. It was a simple matter of self-preservation. Swinburne was from Florida, which had progressively become the most important swing state in every presidential election. Kyler had chosen Swinburne because he needed him, not because he wanted him.
“Sarie,” the president said, “would you bring the vice president up-to-date?”
Ben didn’t question why he had chosen his chief of staff to perform a task that anyone in the room could’ve done, including the cabinet members. She had a fine ability to synthesize materials and to deliver the key points in an economical fashion. Even without notes, she was able to summarize their desperate situation succinctly.
“And now, Ben, please fill him in on the legalities as you see them.”
Ben complied, trying to mimic her efficiency. What was there to say, really? The president had taken an action for humanitarian purposes that a sovereign leader was interpreting as an act of war. So he was coming at the United States with everything he had. Which, unfortunately, turned out to be quite a bit.
“You think he’s acting within his rights?” Swinburne asked.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Ben answered. “But I think we’ve given him the ammunition he needs to justify his extreme actions to the world, at least for a while.”
“That will change as soon as people start dying. We may be in his waters but we haven’t killed anyone.”
“True,” Ben felt compelled to say. “But if war does break out, there will be casualties on all sides. And all anyone will remember will be who started it. Zuko is determined to make the world think that was us. To paint us as the aggressor.”
“Why do you all keep talking about war?” Secretary Ruiz said. “We don’t want to go to war with these people. Do we?”
“Not at the moment,” the president said. “As long as they control our missiles, we would be at a distinct disadvantage.” He pivoted and turned back to the communications station. “Any progress on getting that maniac out of our computers?”
Zimmer shook his head. “They’re trying every antivirus program we’ve got, but it isn’t working. They tell me that if they could find the satellite or whatever it is, track the virus to its source, they could learn how it works. That could lead to a cure. But so far they haven’t found it.”
“Cloaking device,” the president said grimly.
“What?” the vice president replied.
“Cloaking device.”
Swinburne shrugged. “Beam me up.”
President Kyler smiled faintly. “I wish I could.”
The vice president’s eyes went to the clock on the station ticking down Zuko’s countdown. “Seventeen minutes left?”
Zimmer nodded.
“Is there any chance we’ll break this man’s lock on our missiles in that time?”
Zimmer hesitated before answering. “Not really. But I believe they’ll do it eventually.”
“Any reason to believe he’s bluffing?”
Zimmer hesitated. “This is just my opinion…”
“Well, let’s hear it, man.”
“I actually lived in Kuraq for a time, before I joined the service. I lived with a family near the Benzai Strip. There was a woman… well, you don’t need my life story. The point is, I saw Colonel Zuko on a regular basis during his rise to power. I think I know the kind of man he is. He’s not crazy. He may be desperate, given to desperate means. But that is how he took control and that is how he has maintained it ever since. The truth is, he’s the worst possible adversary we could have.” He paused. “And no, I don’t believe he’s bluffing. Military men don’t bluff. They get the biggest gun and then meet the enemy head-on. That’s what he’s doing now.”
The president covered his face with his hands. “Damn.”
Zimmer cleared his throat, then set another Styrofoam cup before him. “Here’s your coffee, sir.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“Sounds to me as if we’re in dire straits,” the vice president said. “We need quick and decisive action to protect ourselves. And I don’t know whom we can trust other than the people in this room.”
“If that,” Ben said.
Ben looked up and once again saw the whole room staring at him. He was really going to have to learn to keep his thoughts to himself.
“What the hell are you talking about, shyster?” Cartwright asked.
Ben turned his hands palm side up. “Am I the only one who noticed?”
“Noticed what?”
“The colonel knew the president was in the bunker. He called here.”
The president waved the thought away. “We’ve covered that already. Anyone who can launch a U.S. missile by seizing control of our computers can uncover my phone number.”
“Yes, I get that,” Ben said. “But how did he know you were down here? I heard the Secret Service say that the usual protocol would be to whisk you away on Air Force One to a safer location. There just wasn’t time. But how does Zuko know that?”
The people at the table began to look at one another.
“And he specifically mentioned Secretary Rybicki, remember? The history buff.”
The president shrugged. “It’s only logical that I would consult my secretary of defense.”
“Yes, of course. But Zuko knew more than that. He knew Rybicki was here in the bunker. Even though that is not standard emergency evacuation protocol. So how did he know? How could he possibly know?”
Ben looked down one side of the table, then the other. He heard no response.
“There’s only one possible explanation,” Ben said, speaking the words no one wanted to hear. “Zuko is getting information from someone.”
Secretary Ruiz spoke with dry lips. “You mean… from someone inside the administration?”
Ben looked him directly in the eyes. “I mean from someone inside this room.”
Seamus knew what it was as soon as he smelled it. Some sort of lachrymatory agent-what the rest of the world called tear gas. It was highly concentrated and potent. He could already feel his eyes watering. Probably phenacyl bromide, given how fast it was taking effect. By his estimate, they had about five seconds to do something. But the only thing they could do was run outside-where the sniper would be waiting for them. Either way, they were dead in the water.
“What are we gonna do?” Arlo screamed. Tears were streaming down his face.
Seamus didn’t really know, didn’t have a plan. But he couldn’t just sit there and choke. He grabbed the kid by the arm. “Come on.”
“Out the door?” Arlo said, coughing.
“That would be much too obvious.” He could feel the mucous membranes in his ears, nose, lungs, and throat swelling up. If he didn’t get away from that canister soon, he’d be gone. It was tempting to grab it and throw it, but he knew that if he came that close, he’d never have time to make the pitch.
On the opposite side of the apartment, he spotted another small window. He dragged Arlo along with him. The kid was coughing so badly he could barely see straight.
Fire escape. And just a few feet beyond that, his parked Dodge.
Of course, if the sniper had any sense-or had a partner-they’d surely be watching that. His only chance was to move fast.
“Ever been parachuting, kid?”
“Are you crazy? No!”
“That’s okay. Just follow my lead.” He fired a few rounds out the front, just to throw them off guard. Then he wrapped himself around Arlo and hurled the both of them out the window.
They crashed down onto the fire escape amid a clatter of iron and shattered glass. The gunfire paused for a moment as the sniper tried to figure out what was happening. Seamus didn’t wait. Still holding on to the kid, he rolled sideways, right off the fire escape. By the time the bullets reached the fire escape, they were gone.
They free-fell for five feet, then slammed down onto the hood of his Dodge. He rolled so that the impact hit him on the back, the place he was best able to absorb it, protecting the boy. All the air was sucked out of Seamus’s lungs and he wasn’t entirely sure the weight of the kid hadn’t broken one of his ribs. Didn’t matter. He didn’t have time to think about it.
He rolled off the hood of the car and tumbled to the side-the side facing away from the shooter. Gunfire soon followed, but just as before, it was a nanosecond too late.
“What the hell was that?” Arlo screeched.
“I was saving your punk-ass life,” Seamus grunted. He pulled out his gun and fired a few shots over the car, then ducked back down for cover.
“You saved my life? How? All we’ve done is move from dead behind my desk to dead behind your car!”
“Yeah. But my car moves. Come on.”
Seamus opened the driver’s-side door and, careful to keep down, pushed Arlo across the seats. Seamus scrambled in behind him. Bullets pounded against the side of the car, but nothing came through. These Company cars might not be flashy, but they were well reinforced. Not exactly Cadillac One, but close.
Seamus kept his head well below seat level and shoved the key into the ignition. The car started immediately.
“Thank God,” Arlo wheezed. “Get us out of here!”
“That’s what he’ll expect us to do,” Seamus muttered. He shoved the car into reverse, then yanked the wheel and floored it.
The car practically exploded backward and rolled onto the yard. A second later, he spotted the shooter.
“Stay down, kid.”
He threw the car into drive and plowed across the grass. The man with the gun-who actually did look kind of preppy, or perhaps like an aging preppy who hadn’t gotten the memo that the eighties were over-panicked as he saw the Dodge’s grille bearing down on him. A moment later he recovered and brought his submachine gun around. It was a moment too late.
The car hit him square on. He was flipped up and flung sideways. He hit the lowest branch of a dogwood tree, then fell to the ground with a thump.
“Ow.” Arlo winced. “That’s got to hurt.”
Seamus didn’t doubt it, but his attention was focused in front of him, as always, securing the playing field. There was a second shooter, as he had suspected. And he had an equally nasty-looking Uzi.
He floored it toward the second shooter. The creep managed to get off a few rounds, shattering the windshield. Seamus closed his eyes. Arlo ducked into the footwell beneath the glove compartment. Seamus couldn’t see anymore, but he didn’t let that slow him down. He targeted where he knew the man had to be and kept barreling across the lawn.
A few seconds later he felt the impact, perhaps the most satisfying thud he had experienced in a good long time. Two seconds after that, the flying body thumped onto the trunk of the car.
“I hope these thugs carry insurance,” Seamus grunted as he stopped the car and crawled out.
He started with the first shooter he had downed. The one who hit the tree. His neck was snapped cleanly. Seamus didn’t even bother checking for a pulse. He was dead and gone.
He moved quickly to the other felled assassin. His leg was twisted behind him at a bizarre angle. Seamus didn’t need a surgeon to tell him that leg would never function again. The guy probably died when-
Wait a minute. He wasn’t dead. He was spitting blood, coughing. His face was racked with pain.
Seamus got right down in his face. “No promises, you son of a bitch. But I think it’s just possible you might live. If I call an ambulance immediately.”
The man teared up. His eyes were pleading. “P-p-please-”
“I know you and your friends used this kid to hack into the defense computers. I know you came here to kill him to cover your tracks. What I don’t know is: Where’s your base of operations? The one you’re using to control the satellite.”
The wounded man’s head was shaking. His whole body began to tremble.
“You’d better tell me, if you want any chance whatsoever to live. ‘Cause if you’re thinking you’re headed to some afterlife with wine and honey and virgins, all I can say is, you’ve got a hell of a lot of misery between you and that.” He paused. “I can make that misery last a good long time. Longer than you can endure without going stark raving mad. And just FYI, there’s no heaven for filthy terrorists who try to shoot college kids when they’re not looking.”
Truth was, the man was fading and would probably be gone in thirty seconds or so. But he didn’t know that. “So talk! Where’s the base?”
“D-don’t… I-I d-don’t know…”
Seamus leaned forward, pressing his knee down on the broken, twisted leg. The man screamed.
“Last chance, chump. Where’s the base?”
“I don’t… know…” He was crying, spitting out blood between syllables. He wasn’t lying. Seamus was sure of it. He didn’t have the capacity to bear this kind of pain without trying to end it. Probably no one did. Damn.
“What about the missile?” Seamus pressed. “What’s Zuko’s target for the missile?”
The man looked up at him pleadingly, not answering.
“Answer me or my thumb goes into that gaping gash in your leg! I’ll pull the bone out with my bare hands!”
“Nooo! Please, no!”
“Spit it out! Or I’ll start putting bullets in your appendages one at a time!”
“It-it-it-”
“Tell me!”
His eyes and mouth opened. He was giving up the ghost, almost literally letting all the fight seep out of him.
“J-J-Jeffffff…”
“Jeff? Who the hell is Jeff?”
“The J-J-Jefffff…”
“The Jeff? What in the hell?”
Behind him, Seamus heard the rustling of grass and then Arlo’s voice. “Don’t you get it, man? He’s not saying Jeff. He’s trying to say Jefferson. As in the Jefferson Memorial.”
Seamus grabbed the man’s collar and hauled him upward. “Is that right? Is that what you’re saying?”
The man’s lids were heavy and he was beyond speaking, but his head trembled up and down in a manner that approximated a nod.
“Jesus God.” Seamus threw him down, then stared up at the sky. “I should’ve known. First Washington, now Jefferson.”
“Why would they want to do that?” Arlo asked. “It’s just a big hunk of marble.”
“It’s a symbol, kid. A very important symbol. And more to the point, it’s a symbol visited by thousands of people every day. Thousands of people who will be slaughtered as soon as that missile hits.”
The room was silenced by Ben’s disturbing but inescapable conclusion.
“If there’s a mole in here, who can I trust?” President Kyler asked.
“That’s the key question,” Cartwright said, arms folded across his portly chest.
“And the question none of us knows the answer to,” Ruiz added. “Well, maybe one of us does.”
“Or more,” Secretary Rybicki said.
“If Kincaid is right and there is a mole down here,” Cartwright said, “who the hell is it?”
All those seated at the table began to look closely, too closely, at the people sitting around them. Ben could feel the heat of scrutiny, the weight of too many eyes bearing down on him at once. He was well aware that in many respects he was the outsider in the room: not a member of the cabinet, not really a member of the president’s staff, and a presence in the White House for only a brief period of time. The two secretaries probably didn’t even recall meeting him before today.
As it turned out, paranoia did not reach out to him first. “Agent Zimmer,” Cartwright said, “exactly how long were you in the Middle East?”
Zimmer still had the headphones on and appeared to be conducting about three conversations and watching six screens at once. He made a waving gesture that clearly conveyed a message: I’m too busy to talk to you.
“Hmph,” Cartwright said, frowning. “Convenient.”
“Sorry to bring this up, Mike,” Vice President Swinburne said to the secretary of state, “but weren’t you formerly friends with Colonel Zuko?”
Ruiz looked stricken. “Friends? Hardly. I’ve met him a few times, long ago. We were both at Oxford at the same time. I was a Rhodes scholar and he bought half of Queen’s College. But I certainly wouldn’t say we were ever friends. I don’t think I’ve spoken to him since he returned to Kuraq.”
The president’s head tilted slightly. “Didn’t Zuko help out with your first campaign?”
“What, you mean back when I ran for mayor in Laramie?” Ben spotted distinct patches of red popping out on Ruiz’s cheeks. “Yes, he made a little contribution. I’d forgotten all about it. But it was his idea. I never talked to him.”
Even Cartwright didn’t bother to respond to that. No one could make Ruiz look more incriminated than the job he was doing on himself.
“I don’t understand why these accusations are coming my way,” Ruiz said defensively. “I’m a statesman, not a military man-unlike you, Admiral Cartwright. I daresay you know more about our missile defense system than anyone in this room.”
“What are you getting at, Ruiz?” Cartwright replied.
“I’m just pointing out that Colonel Zuko is not a computer genius. Someone had to give him some assistance.”
“Are you accusing me of treason, man?” The admiral’s eyes looked as if they might pop out of his skull. “If that’s what it is, stand up and do it to my face!”
Ruiz looked away. “I’m just saying…”
“You were in charge of the Middlemarch study, weren’t you, Will?” The president spoke soberly, but his voice seemed weak, almost feeble.
“Yes,” Cartwright replied. “And I guess this proves the importance of that effort!”
“Middlemarch?” Sarie looked just as puzzled as Ben was. “I haven’t heard of that. What is it?”
“That’s the code name for a top-secret study to assess the vulnerability of our national defense computer system. Basically, we were trying to determine if we could be infiltrated… well, in exactly the manner Zuko is doing right now.”
“Really?” Rybicki said. “What was the conclusion of the study?”
Cartwright pursed his lips. “That we had a lot of work to do to make this country secure.”
“And was that work done?”
“Some of it. We haven’t had time-” He stopped short. “Well, we haven’t!”
Ben was wishing now he had never spoken. He’d thought it was obvious to everyone already that Zuko had inside information. But it seemed all he had done was magnify the already massive sense of paranoia in the room. In any case, he thought the bunker needed an immediate change of subject before this turned into a bloodbath.
He noticed that Zimmer had stopped talking for a moment, and so he seized the opportunity. “Agent Zimmer, I know you’re busy, but given the exigent circumstances… is it possible I could make a brief phone call to my wife?”
Zimmer shrugged. “The problem is, if I let you make a call, I need to do the same for everyone.”
Ben frowned. Since there were eight people down here, plus the Secret Service agents, and only about ten minutes left on the clock, that was clearly a deal breaker.
“I don’t need to call home,” Cartwright said, to Ben’s surprise. Was he being generous, or did he just consider anyone who wanted to call his wife during a crisis a pantywaist? “My Brenda has been a military wife for thirty-nine years now. She knows the drill.”
They took a quick poll of the room, and as it turned out, Ben, Rybicki, and Sarie were the only ones who wanted to make a call, so Zimmer allowed it, though he limited each call to one minute.
Sarie went first. She looked terrible. Ben wondered whom she had called. She wasn’t currently married, and he didn’t think she was close to any family members. Her work was her life. But there was someone she wanted to talk to before it was too late. She trembled as she spoke, which was more than unfortunate. When you had to get a call completed in one minute, it’s a poor time to develop a stutter.
Secretary Rybicki made a brief call, then it was Ben’s turn. “Remember,” Zimmer said, “you can make no reference to the missile crisis, Colonel Zuko, or anything else that is not currently public knowledge.”
“Understood. One minute.”
Zimmer smiled slightly. “Well, for you, Ben… perhaps I can make it two.”
Zimmer turned his back and took a few steps away, presumably to give Ben a tiny quantum of privacy. Ben quickly dialed Christina’s cell phone.
“How’s my favorite wife?”
“Ben! Oh, my gosh. Is it really you? I’ve been so worried! The news said that the White House might be in danger, then they said there was a gas explosion, but people on the Internet are saying a missile exploded, and I didn’t know where you were or-What happened? Where are you? I went to-”
“Christina, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I only have two minutes.”
“What?”
“I just wanted you to know that I’m safe. I’m still at the White House-sort of-and I’m with the president and we’re all safe. I may not be able to come home for some while, though, so I wanted to assure you that-”
“Oh, my gosh, Ben. They’ve closed all the monuments on the Mall. Something big is going on out there.”
“Yes, I know-”
“What is it?”
“I can’t talk about it.”
“Spoilsport.”
“But I’m safe, honey. And when I get home, I’ll have big news. You’ll never top this.”
“I’ll bet I can.”
Ben felt an irritable gnawing in his stomach. “No, not this time, sweetie. There’s just no-”
“Your mother is going to redecorate the spare room.”
“And you’re telling me this now? When the whole country-”
“Didn’t you say I could decorate the room?”
“Well, yes, but-”
“Good. She has excellent taste. And isn’t family more important than politics?”
“I suppose,” he said. She didn’t need to know how serious this crisis really was.
Out the corner of his eye, Ben saw Zimmer holding up all his fingers. Ten seconds.
“Honey, I have to go now. I just wanted to tell you not to worry. I’m safe. And I love you very much.”
“I love you, too, you goofus. Get your sexy butt home soon.”
Ben flushed and hung up the phone.
When he returned to the conference table, everyone else was engaged in a heated debate.
“We can’t give in to terrorists!” the president insisted.
“We should’ve pulled out of the Middle East a long time ago,” Ruiz said. “Found our energy somewhere else. Let the damn camel jockeys obliterate one another.”
“Look,” Vice President Swinburne said, “I don’t know where you were in your deliberations before I made the scene, so I’ll just jump in-if you don’t mind, Mr. President. I know I’m not technically a member of the cabinet.”
“I always value your opinion, Connie.”
The expressions Ben read on both faces suggested that neither of them believed a word of that statement.
“Then let me be blunt. I think we have to tell our forces to retreat. Get us the hell out of there. Before this countdown runs out.”
The president slowly lowered himself into his own chair. “Are you seriously suggesting that we give in to this terrorist?”
“But he isn’t a terrorist, Roland. He’s the internationally recognized leader of a sovereign nation.”
“He seized power in a bloody coup.”
“That’s ancient history. He is the leader of Kuraq and he has a legitimate beef.” Swinburne spread his hands wide. “Look, I don’t want to see all those people in Benzai slaughtered, either. But if it’s a choice between losing them or losing some of our own people-well, I hope I don’t have to explain what side I come down on.”
“We’re the most respected nation in the world, Connie. We can’t always act in our own interests. We’re citizens of the world.”
Ben could see that Swinburne was becoming agitated. “Then let me put it to you even more bluntly, Roland. Do you have any desire to be reelected?”
“I hardly think this is the time-”
“A poor decision here could tank this administration.”
“That’s my decision to make.”
“And you won’t just be dragging yourself down. I’d like a shot at your job when you’re finished. And that isn’t going to happen if the people learn that you traded American lives for those of some non-Christian foreigners most people haven’t even heard of before!”
“This is a time for cool-headed foreign policy statesmanship, not political maneuvering!” the president shouted.
“This is a time for pragmatism, not boneheaded idealism!” Swinburne shouted back. “And if you won’t do what needs to be done, I will.”
“Over my dead body!”
The vice president looked at him levelly. “I can think of an easier means to get you out of the way than that.”
Seamus called 911, then snapped his cell phone shut. “Come on, kid.”
“Do I have to?”
“You’re not safe here. And I’m not done with you.”
Seamus moved toward the car, but Arlo hesitated.
“What are you waiting for? A papal bull?”
“I just-I-” Arlo shook his shaggy head. “You were seriously harsh with that guy.”
“He’s a terrorist who tried to kill you, kid. Remember?”
“You tortured him!”
“I wouldn’t put it that way. I… persuaded him.”
“You tortured him.”
“Look, he was fading fast, and if I was going to get anything out of him, it was going to have to happen fast. He’s working with people who have pointed our own weapons at us and are threatening to launch them at any minute. I don’t have time to say pretty please.”
“Yeah, I get that, man. I just-I don’t know why you had to go all Gitmo on him.”
“Have you forgotten that this guy came here to kill you?”
“No. But if we start using the same tactics as the bad guys, doesn’t that make us just like the bad guys?”
Seamus swung the car door open. “I don’t have time for a philosophical debate. Get in!”
Arlo did as he was told. Seamus turned the car around and started back toward downtown. The National Mall. And all the monuments on and near it.
He punched in a highly classified number on his cell phone. A few seconds later, someone picked up.
“Seamus?”
“Zira, listen. I got-”
“Seamus, where the hell are you? I didn’t give you the go-ahead to-”
“Zira, for once would you shut the hell up?” That explosion would probably cost him some vacation time. Possibly his job. But she needed to hear what he had to say, as quickly as possible. “Just listen to me, Zira. I’m cutting to the chase. I tracked down the computer expert who may have inadvertently helped Zuko’s people infiltrate our computers. Some terrorist thugs showed up to silence him. I managed to interrogate one of them.”
“Why didn’t you bring him in?”
“There wasn’t time.”
“Seamus, I certainly hope you didn’t do anything inappropriate. Maybe you can get away with those strong-arm tactics out in the desert, but you’re in the civilized world now and-”
“Zira, close your trap and listen!” Oh, man, was he going to pay for this. “Zira, they’re targeting the Jefferson Memorial.”
For once she was actually quiet. For a second. “Are you certain about this?”
“I don’t think my informant had any incentive to lie. He was… in an awkward situation.”
“Tell me what happened. I need to evaluate the intel.”
“No, Zira. You need to evacuate the memorial.”
“Actually, the president just gave an order to close all the Washington attractions, so it’s already in progress.”
“That’s not good enough. You need to evacuate the whole Mall. Get the people out of there! There can’t be anyone within a mile radius of the memorial.”
“Do you think the suitcase is involved?”
“I don’t know. I’m headed that way now.”
He heard her barking orders to someone else. When she came back on she said, “I’ve started the evac. The contingency plans have been in place ever since the first Oklahoma City bombing. They’ll move quickly.”
“How quickly?”
“The E-one-oh-one blueprint says the entire Mall should be clear in seven minutes.”
“Does that assume all the tourists cooperate? No one stops to take pictures?”
“I think it’s five minutes if they all cooperate. What are you going to do?”
“I could head to the memorial.”
“Why? So they can evacuate you, too? You’re good, Seamus, but I don’t think you can stop a ballistic missile.”
“You’ve got a point. My informant thinks there must be some sort of operations base in the area. Some Computers R Us outfit that sends instructions to the satellite or whatever it is up there.”
“Does he know where it is?”
“No.”
“Find it, Seamus.”
He couldn’t resist. “Well, okay, if you’re sure. If you’d rather, I could come into the office so you can debrief me.”
“Just find the goddamn base, Seamus.”
“All right. Since you asked nicely.”
“Call back when you can.”
“I will. Bye.”
He snapped his phone shut.
“Do you always talk to your boss like that?” Arlo asked. “‘Cause I worked at Taco Bell once, and my supervisor didn’t even understand what sarcasm was. Which is probably why I only lasted three weeks.”
Seamus blew air through his nose. “Listen, kid, I’m not used to having someone hovering over my shoulder. When I was in the Middle East, I went weeks without any contact with anyone. Including superiors. And none of my superiors was-” He used better judgment and buried the end of the sentence.
“You were in the Middle East?”
“For the better part of ten years.”
“In the Iraq war?”
“Not exactly. In… um, contingency operations.”
“You were a spy!”
“I can neither confirm nor deny.”
“You were!” Arlo pounded the dash of the car. “You so were. That must be where you learned all those moves.”
“I guess you could say that.”
“Did you go after bin Laden?”
“Yeah. Damn near caught him, too.”
“Sweet!” Arlo bounced up and down like a kid meeting his favorite superstar. “You’re, like, one of America ’s heroes.”
“If so, it’s a well-kept secret.”
“Have you ever been shot?”
“More times than I can count.”
“Have you ever had to kill anyone?”
Seamus closed his eyes briefly and sighed. “More times that I care to remember.”
“That is so razor. You know, I’ve done some counterintelligence work myself.”
Seamus arched an eyebrow. “You have?”
“Oh, yeah. I mean, in a video game. But it was a highly realistic simulation.”
“No doubt.” Seamus kept his eyes on the road. “Kid, have you given any thought to how we’re going to track down Colonel Zuko’s base of operations?”
“We? Did you say we?”
“Don’t have a stroke. Yes, I said we. How are we gonna do it?”
“Geez, I don’t know. Do you have any leads?”
“You’re my lead, Arlo. How are we going to find it?”
“How would I know?”
“An operations base like you described must need staff. There can’t be many people in the area with the techno-gizmo whiz kid qualifications to help terrorists hack into our defense computers.”
“True.”
“Where would we find these people? In the Washington area.”
“How would I know?” Arlo pondered for a moment. “A lot of brainiacs hang at the university.”
“ Georgetown? Maybe. But what about when they’re not working?”
“I really don’t know.”
“Well, what do you do in your spare time?”
“I don’t have spare time. I mean, besides computer work. Programming. Facebook. World of Warcraft.”
Seamus rolled his eyes. “Don’t you ever go out?”
“Um, out?”
“Like, to meet friends. Perchance even go on a date?”
“I generally eschew frivolous and meaningless social encounters.”
“You have no friends.”
“That’s not true!”
“When was the last time you went out on a date?”
“What does it matter?”
“Are you gay?”
“No!”
“Then it matters.” Seamus took a hard left and merged onto the parkway. He was driving too fast, but hell, he was in a hurry. Traffic was thick, but in the opposite direction. He wondered if that was because the evacuation had begun. “How can I say this, kid? You need to get a life.”
“I have a life! I have a very rich and rewarding life-”
“Filled with megabytes and malware and perhaps, on a really good night, Internet porn.”
“You don’t know anything about it!”
“No, you don’t. And you need to, because I need to know where to find the other people like you.”
“D.C. Bytes.”
Seamus processed a moment. “Is that a critical evaluation?”
“No. That’s a deli and coffeehouse. Frequented by the upper echelon of the programming/hacking/phishing community.”
“Fine. Where is it?” Arlo gave him the address. “Then that’s where we’re headed.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll turn the car around and-”
At the edge of his peripheral vision, Seamus saw something in the air. It would be impossible to describe-if he had never seen anything like it before. It looked like a horizontal crayon mark streaking across the sky and moving very fast.
“Oh, my God,” Seamus said breathlessly.
“What? What?” Arlo jumped up in his seat and turned toward the back. “What is it? What’s happening?”
“We’re too late,” he said. His eyes traced the crayon mark as it passed over them. “The missile is on its way. And heading straight toward the Mall.”
(FIVE MINUTES BEFORE)
“All right, all right.” Secretary Rybicki jumped out of his chair and came between the president and his VP. “Let’s all cool down. We only have a few minutes left to make a very important decision. And we aren’t going to accomplish that with an alpha-male smackdown. Remember what Lincoln said: cool heads prevail in torrid times.”
“We need a show of strength,” Vice President Swinburne said. “The strength to make a tough call.”
“I don’t think most of the people I know would consider retreat a sign of strength,” Rybicki countered. “We can’t let this maniac go unchecked. I wonder if the president is doing enough. I think it’s time for scorched-earth tactics.”
“That’s crazy talk.”
“Forgive me, Mr. Vice President, but I don’t recall seeing you at the military academy. You went to Yale and studied geology, right? I’m sure that’s useful in some arenas. But I have studied military tactics, and I say we should go in with everything we’ve got, leave nothing intact. Scorched earth worked for the ancient Scythians. They put Persia in its place, back in their day. Maybe we should try the same thing. What do you think, Mr. President?”
“You’re right. You’re right.” The president fell back into his chair and pinched his nose. “I just wish… I wish…” His eyes seemed to detach, to lose their focus. His gaze drifted off to the side, somewhere vaguely in the direction of the presidential seal on the wall. “Here’s the story…”
Ben couldn’t quite hear what he was saying. Without making a show of it, he leaned in closer.
“… of a lovely lady…”
Ben glanced at Sarie. Sarie looked back at him, dumbfounded.
He wasn’t mistaken. The POTUS was singing the theme song from The Brady Bunch. In a time of crisis, with only a few minutes left till disaster, with the entire eastern seaboard facing possible destruction, he was singing the theme from a cheesy seventies sitcom.
Ben quickly scanned the room. Everyone else seemed just as incredulous as they were. He particularly scrutinized the vice president’s expression but found it very difficult to read.
To Ben’s amazement, the president played air guitar and made the sound of an electric fuzz during the song. “That’s the way we became the Brady Bunch.” He extended one arm across the table. “Yeah!”
Not a person in the room spoke. All eyes were focused on the leader of the free world-and then on the countdown on the wall.
“What’s the matter?” the president said, grinning. “No one has a sense of humor?”
Swinburne cleared his throat. “Um, Mr. President…”
“I don’t like that tone in your voice, mister. I don’t like it at all.” Abruptly the president looked at Ben. “You know what I wish, Ben?”
“Um, no…”
“I wish I could be a butterfly. Don’t you wish you could be a butterfly?”
Ben swallowed. “Well, I think you have to be a caterpillar first. I don’t think I’d care for all that slithering. And don’t they have short life spans?”
“But you could fly, Ben. Fly!” He shot to his feet and stretched out his arms. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”
Off to the side, Ben saw the vice president make a motion toward the doctor. A moment later, Dr. Albertson crossed the room to his patient.
“Sorry, Roland. Need to take a few readings.”
“Why?” he said petulantly. “There’s nothing wrong with me!”
“Just want to do a spot check.” He removed his stethoscope. “Check your heartbeat, make sure there’s no cardiac arrest. Check your blood pressure. Make sure there’s no aneurysm. I’d like to take some blood, too, but I couldn’t analyze it without going topside…”
He looked across to Zimmer. Zimmer gave him a firm no.
“Well, just let me see what I can do with what I have available.” He took out the inhaler. “Why don’t you take a hit from this? Might help. Maybe your airways are constricted. That can make a person… lightheaded.”
“I am not light-headed!” Kyler replied. “Leave me alone!”
“Sorry, but when it comes to your health, I’m the boss.” He took the better part of a minute-one of the few they had left-to complete his examination. “My friends,” he said when he was done, “I detect nothing overtly the matter with the president’s health.”
Ruiz sputtered, “Well, there’s obviously something wrong!”
Swinburne’s brow was creased. “Doctor, I don’t want to seem opportunistic. But we don’t have time for any nonsense. We are in a crisis situation. This nation needs to be led by someone who is in full control of his faculties.”
“The law is the law,” Dr. Albertson said firmly. “And Roland Kyler is the president, whether you like it or not.”
“I know you’ve read the Twenty-fifth Amendment, Doctor. If the president becomes incapacitated-”
“I see no evidence of that.”
“Open your eyes, man!”
“I won’t declare any man incapable based on a little odd behavior.”
“Be reasonable. This could cost thousands of American lives.”
“I’m aware of the possible consequences.”
“Then do something!”
Dr. Albertson shook his head. “Physiologically, so far as I can tell from the instruments available to me down here, the president is in perfect health. So he remains in charge.”
“Not if-”
The vice president never got to finish his sentence. Agent Zimmer cut in. “Sir, Colonel Zuko is back on the line.”
“Put him on.”
Ben looked up and, to his astonishment, saw that the president had snapped back to his normal state. He looked as strong and sturdy as ever.
What the hell was going on here?
Ben didn’t have much time to ponder. The colonel’s eerie, disembodied voice was soon back on the speakerphone.
“I greet you again, Mr. President. And your loyal second, Mr. Swinburne. I hope you are all comfortable down there.”
“Get to the damn point,” Kyler barked.
“As you wish. I’m sure you have noticed that you have one minute left on the clock. One minute to save countless lives. May I ask your decision?”
“There’s no decision to make, Colonel.”
“Roland!” Swinburne said, but the president shushed him.
“There will be blood on your hands, Mr. President. I have given you every possible opportunity to stop it, but you have chosen to take another path. The path of death and violence.”
“You’re the one threatening to kill people.”
“And you’re the one threatening my people.”
“You can stop it!”
The vice president whispered softly, “You can, too, Roland. Please do. Please!”
“The United States will not negotiate with terrorists, Zuko,” the president said firmly. “Not now. Not ever.”
Even over the phone line, Ben thought he heard Zuko sigh. “Then you have made your decision. I am sorry.” He paused a moment. “I will call you again. After you have had time to count the dead.”
The room was silent. Everyone stared straight ahead.
“He doesn’t mean it,” Rybicki said, breaking the silence. “It’s a threat. That’s all. We called his bluff.”
“You think so?” Admiral Cartwright asked.
“Of course. Even a crazy bastard like that must know that-”
He was interrupted by a loud beeping sound coming from the communications station.
They were all too afraid to ask.
“My God, no!”
Zimmer turned, suddenly aware that everyone present had heard what he just said.
“Are you sure?” Zimmer said into his mouthpiece. “Are you absolutely sure?”
A pause. Zimmer’s eyes closed.
“Continue all evacuation efforts. Shut down the subway system. Get people out of there as fast as you can. Everyone. Law enforcement, emergency rescue. Everyone! As fast as possible!”
“What’s going on?” the president asked in a quiet voice.
Zimmer rose slowly to his feet. His face was ashen. “I’m-I’m-” He choked. He swallowed, then tried again. “I’m afraid I have confirmation, sir.”
“And?”
Zimmer paused only a few seconds before answering, but it seemed an eternity. “A missile has been launched.”
“Do you know where it’s going?”
Zimmer was still listening to his intel source in one ear. “I’m afraid I do, sir. It has almost arrived.”
“And?”
“And… it couldn’t possibly be any worse.”
The president pressed his fingers against his temples. “Just spit it out, man.”
And then Zimmer told them.
“Oh, my God. Oh, my dear God. Not that. Anything but that!”
Seamus pulled his car over to the side of the street and stared at the vast destruction before him. Even at this distance it was impossible to miss the devastation that lay before him.
He had seen the missile strike. He had spotted it when it was on its way, quickly found a good vantage point, and parked the car. Arlo stayed inside. Just as well. He might want to tuck his head under his hands, for that matter. Seamus wouldn’t blame him. No one needed to see this. He had seen missiles strike before, but this was different. This was not out in the barren, mostly unpopulated desert.
This missile struck at home.
The targeting was perfect. He had to give the terrorists-or perhaps their computer guru-credit for that. It struck dead on the roof of the Jefferson Memorial and instantaneously exploded it into billions of pieces. In less than the blink of an eye it was transformed from a marble masterpiece of neoclassical architecture to a field of rubble.
Chunks of marble and metal flew through the air in a grotesque pyrotechnic display. Seamus saw large chunks splash into the Tidal Basin Memorial. He saw another large piece crash down on the rooftop of the George Mason Memorial. No telling what damage that might have done, not to mention what treasures might have been destroyed.
Fortunately, as far as he could tell, all the tourists had been evacuated in time. Maybe Zira was right and they really could clear the area in seven minutes. He hoped so. He didn’t see how anyone in the immediate vicinity could have survived. If the explosion hadn’t killed them, the flying rubble surely would.
Seamus pulled a pair of binoculars out of the trunk of his car, but it was almost impossible to see anything. The billowing smoke and ash and fire rendered Seamus unable to get a clear view. All he really got was a portrait of devastation. A bleak landscape. A barren wasteland.
He had seen this before, possibly even seen it worse. But that had always been somewhere else. This was the first, the only time he had seen it on U.S. soil.
He heard the shuffling of Arlo’s feet behind him. “You should stay in the car,” Seamus told him.
Arlo didn’t listen. “Jesus. Is that-the Mall?”
Seamus compressed his lips. “What’s left of it.”
“They did it. They really did it.”
“They really did.”
“Is it over?”
Seamus shook his head. His upper lip began to curl. “No. If they were willing to do this, they won’t stop now. Zuko knows he’s going to be the pariah of the world community. He doesn’t care.”
“What does he want?”
“I don’t know. What does it matter? Every terrorist wants something. The important question is, how do we stop him?”
“What are you-” Arlo lurched into a coughing jag. The smoke had made it into his lungs. It was becoming difficult to breathe.
“Let’s get out of here,” Seamus said. They crawled back into the car. He started it up and headed in the opposite direction.
Behind them, the sky looked as if an enormous hand had reached down and ripped a swath out of the heavens. It was devoid of birds, of clouds, of any signs of life or beauty. Now it was only fire and ash. One of the key symbols of democracy, of the great truism that all people are created equal, was no more.
When Arlo spoke again, his voice was hoarse. “What are you going to do next?”
“Isn’t it obvious, kid?” Seamus gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. “I’m going to stop the bastards who just blew up my favorite memorial.”