Davis did, too.
Daniels motioned for them to stay put. "It's late and we're all tired. Sit." He grabbed a chair. "Thank you, Colonel. Would you make sure we're not disturbed?"
Gross disappeared toward the front of the warehouse.
"You two look like hell," Daniels said.
"Comes from watching a man's head get blown off," Davis said.
Daniels sighed. "I've seen that myself, once or twice. Two tours in Vietnam. Never leaves you."
"A man died because of us," Davis said.
Daniels' lips tightened. "But Herbert Rowland is alive because of you."
Little consolation, she thought, then asked, "How are you here?"
"Slipped out of the White House and rode Marine One straight south. Bush started that. He'd fly all the way to Iraq before anyone knew. We have procedures in place to accommodate that now. I'll be back in bed before anyone knows I'm gone." Daniels' gaze drifted toward the refrigerator door. "I wanted to see what was in there. Colonel Gross told me, but I wanted to see."
"It could change how we view civilization," she said.
"It's amazing." And she could see that Daniels was genuinely impressed. "Was Malone right? Can we read the books?"
She nodded. "Enough to make sense."
The president's usual boisterous bearing seemed in check. She'd heard he was a notorious night owl, sleeping little. Staffers constantly complained.
"We lost the killer," Davis said.
She caught the defeat in his tone. So different from the first time they'd worked together, when he'd tossed out an infectious optimism that had driven her into central Asia.
"Edwin," the president said, "you've given this your best shot. I thought you were nuts, but you were right."
Davis' eyes were those of someone who'd given up expecting good news. "Scofield's still dead. Millicent is still dead."
"The question is, do you want their killer?"
"Like I said, we lost him."
"See, that's the thing," Daniels said. "I found him."