AlsobyDavidBaldacci

AbsolutePowerTotalControlTheWinner

TheSimpleTruthSavingFaithWishYouWell

LastManStandingTheChristmasTrain

SplitSecondHourGame

ThisnovelisdedicatedtothemenandwomenoftheUnitedStatesSecretServiceAndtoLarryKirshbaum,afirst-rateeditor,agreatpublisher,andawonderfulfriend

PROLOGUE

THECHEVYSUBURBANSPEDDOWNtheroad,envelopedbythehusheddarknessofthe Virginia countryside. Forty-one-year-old Adnan al-Rimi was hunched over the wheel as heconcentratedonthewindyroadcomingup.Deerwereplentifulhere,andAdnanhadnodesiretoseethebloodiedantlersofoneslashingthroughthewindshield.Indeed,themanwastiredofthingsattackinghim.He lifted a gloved hand from the steeringwheel and felt for the gun in the holster under his jacket; aweaponwasnotjustacomfortforAdnan,itwasanecessity.

Hesuddenlyglancedoutthewindowasheheardthesoundoverhead.Thereweretwopassengersinthebackseat.ThemantalkinganimatedlyinFarsionacellphonewas

Muhammad al-Zawahiri, an Iranianwho had entered the country shortly before the terrorist attacks on9/11.ThemannexttohimwasanAfghannamedGulKhan,who’dbeenintheStatesonlyafewmonths.Khan was large and muscular with a shaved head. He wore a hunter’s camouflage jacket and wascheckinghismachinegunwithnimblefingers.Heclickedthemagbackinplaceandputthefiringswitchon two-shot bursts.A few drops of rain fell against thewindow, andKhan idlywatched them trickledown.

“Thisisnicecountryside,”KhansaidinPashto,adialectMuhammadspokebutoneAdnanhadlittlefamiliaritywith.“Mycountry is filledwith themetalcarcassesofSoviet tanks.The farmers justplowaroundthem.”Hepausedandaddedwithadeeplysatisfiedlook,“AndsomeAmericancarcassestoo,wehave.”

Adnankeptglancingintherearviewmirror.Hedidn’tlikeamanwithamachinegunsittingbehindhim, fellowMuslimornot.Andneitherwasheoverly trustingof the Iranian.Adnanhadbeenborn inSaudiArabiabutmigratedtoIraqasayoungboy.HefoughtforIraqinthehorrificwarbetweenthetwocountries,andhisenmitytowardIranstillranverydeep.Ethnically,Muhammadal-ZawahiriwasPersian,notArab, likeal-Rimi. Itwasanotherdifferencebetween the twomen thatcausedal-Riminot to trusthim.

Muhammadfinishedhisphonecall,wipedasmudgeofdirtoffoneofhisAmerican-madecowboyboots,checkedthetimeonhisveryexpensivewatchandlaybackagainsttheseatandsmiledashelitacigarette. He said something in Farsi andKhan laughed. The bigAfghan’s breath smelled strongly ofonions.

Adnangrippedthesteeringwheeltighter.Hehadneverbeenacarelessman,andAdnandidn’tliketheIranian’sflippancyaboutseriousmatters.SecondslaterAdnanlookedoutthewindowagain.

Muhammadhadclearlyheardittoo.Herolleddownhiswindowandpokedhisheadout,lookingupatthecloudysky.WhenhesawthewinkofredlightsoverheadhebarkedtoAdnan,whonoddedandhitthegas;bothmeninthebackstrappedontheirseatbelts.

TheChevyflewalongthesnakingcountryroad,bankingsohardaroundsomecurvesthatthemenintherearheldontothehandstrapswithalltenfingers.Yeteventhefastestcarintheworldcouldn’toutrunahelicopteronaserpentinetrack.

SpeakingagaininFarsi,MuhammadorderedAdnantopulloffundersometreesandwait,toseeif

thechopperkeptgoing.ContinuinginFarsihesaid,“Caraccident,Adnan?Medicalevacuationhelicopterperhaps?”

Adnanshrugged.Hedidn’tspeakFarsiverywell,andoftentimesnuancesinthatlanguageescapedhim.Onedidn’tneedtobealinguist,however,tosensetheurgencyinhiscolleague’svoice.Hedroveunderaclusterof trees,andall threemengotoutandcroucheddownbythevehicle.KhanpointedhismachinegunattheskyandAdnanslidhispistoloutaswell.Muhammadjustgrippedhiscellphoneandlookednervouslyoverhead.For amoment it appeared that the chopper had left, but then a searchlightbeamcutthroughthetreecanopiesdirectlyoverthem.

ThenextwordMuhammadspokewasinEnglish:“Shit!”HenoddedatAdnan,instructinghimtogoforabetterlook.

The Iraqi ran in a crouch until he reached the edge of the tree line and cautiously gazed up.Thechopperwashoveringsixtyfeetoverhead.Adnanreturnedtohiscompanions,reportingwhathe’dseen.

“Theymaybelookingforaplacetoland,”headded.“DowehaveanRPGinthetruck?”Muhammadasked,hisvoiceslightlytrembling.Hewasusedto

beingthebrainsbehindthesesortsofoperationsratherthanoneofthefootsoldierswhoactuallydidthekilling—andoftendiedintheprocess.

Adnanshookhishead.“Wedidn’tthinkwe’dhaveneedofarocket-propelledgrenadetonight.”“Shit,”Muhammadsaidagain.“Listen,”hehissed.“Ithinkthey’relanding.”Thetreecanopieswere

startingtoshakefromthechopper’srotorwash.Adnan nodded at his companions. “It is only a two-person helicopter.There are three of us,” he

addedfirmly.Hestaredathisleader.“Takeoutyourgun,Muhammad,andbereadytouseit.Wewillnotgoquietly.WewilltakesomeAmericanswithus.”

“Youfool,”Muhammadsnapped.“Doyou think theyhaven’talreadycalled forothers?Theywillsimplykeepuspinneddownuntilhelparrives.”

“Ourcoverpapersareinorder,”Adnancountered.“Thebestmoneycanbuy.”The Iranian looked at him as though hewere insane. “We arearmed Arabs in themiddle of pig

farmersinVirginia.TheywillfingerprintmeandknowinsecondswhoIreallyam.Wearetrapped,”headdedinanotherhiss.“Howcouldthisbe?How?”

Adnanpointedat theman’shand.“Perhapsthatcellphoneyou’realwayson.Theycantrackthesethings.I’vewarnedyoubeforeaboutthat.”

“Allah’swillbedone,”GulKhansaidasheputhisgun’sfiringselectoronfullauto,apparentlyinaccordancewithGod’swishes.

Muhammadstaredathimincredulously.“Ifwearestoppednow,ourplanswillnotsucceed.DoyouthinkGodwantsthat?Doyou!”Hepausedandtookadeep,steadyingbreath.“HereiswhatIwantyoutwotodo.Whatyoumustdo!”Hepointedashakyfingeratthevibratingtreecanopiesandsaidinafirmvoice,“Iwantyoutoholdthemoff,whileImakearunforit.Thereisanotherroadahalf-milethroughthesetreestothewest.IcancallMarwantocomeandpickmeupintheothertruckatthatlocation.Butyoumustholdthemoff.Youmustdothis!”

Adnan stared sullenly at his leader. By his expression, if there were a literal translation for“chickenshit”inhisnativetongue,Adnanwould’vecertainlyusedit.

“Go,now,drawthemoff,itisyoursacrificeforthecause,”Muhammadcriedashestartedbackingaway.

“Ifwearetodiewhileyouescape,thengivemeyourgun,”Adnansaidbitterly.“Youwillhavenoneedofit.”

TheIranianpulledouthispistolandtossedittoAdnan.TheburlyKhanturnedtowardthechopperandsmiled.“Howaboutthisplan,Adnan?”hesaidover

hisshoulder.“FiringintotheirtailpropbeforetheycanlandworkedverywellagainsttheAmericansin

mycountry.Theirspinessnapliketwigswhentheyhittheground.”Thebullethithiminthebackoftheneck,ironicallysnappingKhan’sownspinelikeatwig,andthe

bigAfghanifelldead.AdnanswiveledhispistolawayfromhisfirstvictimandpointeditatMuhammad,who,seeingthis

traitorousattack,hadstartedtorun.Hewasnotfleetoffoot,however,andthecowboybootshefavoredwerenotbuiltforrunning.AdnancaughtuptohimwhenMuhammadfelloverarottingtreetrunk.

MuhammadlookedupathiscolleagueasAdnanpointedMuhammad’sownpistolathim.Thestreamof invectives in Farsi fromMuhammad was followed by pleas in halting Arabic and then finally inEnglish:“Adnan,please.Why?Why?”

InArabicAdnananswered,“Youdealdrugs,yousay,tomakemoneytosupporttheeffort.Yetyouspendmore time shopping foryourprecious cowboyboots andyour fancy jewelry thanyoudoon theworkofIslam,Muhammad.Youhavelosttheway.YouareAmericannow.ButthatisnotwhyIdothis.”

“Tellmewhythen!”theIranianshouted.“It isyour sacrifice foragreaterend.”Adnandidn’t smile,but the triumphwasveryclear inhis

eyes.Hefiredacontactshotintotheman’slefttemple,andnomorepleasinanylanguageflowedfromtheIranian.AdnanpressedMuhammad’shandaroundthegun,thensetitdownandmadehiswayquicklyback to theclearing,where thechopperhad landedandoneof thepassengerdoorswasnowopening.Adnanhadlied.Itwasactuallyafour-personchopper.Twomengotout.TheywereWesternerswearinggrim features, and carrying something between them.Adnan led themback toMuhammad’s body afterstoppingtoretrieveashotgunfromtheSuburban.

Theobject thementotedwasabodybag.Theyunzippedit. Insidewasaman,amanwholookedremarkablylikeAdnanandwasdressedidenticallytohim.Themanwasunconsciousbutstillbreathing.TheysethimupagainstatreenearwherethedeadIranianlay.Adnanhandedhiswallettooneofthemenandheplaceditintheunconsciousman’sjacketpocket.ThentheothermantooktheshotgunfromAdnan,pressedMuhammad’sdeadhandsaroundit,pointeditattheunconsciousman,andfiredablastintohishead,instantlywipingawaypartofhisface.Alivinghumantoacorpse,inseconds.Adnanwasanexpertinsuchthings,andnotbyhischoosing.Whowouldselectthatvocation,exceptamadman?

A minute later Adnan and the two men were racing to the helicopter, and they climbed in; itimmediatelyliftedintotheair.Therewerenoinsigniasonthechopper’ssidesortail,andnoneofthemenwore uniforms. Indeed, they barely looked atAdnan as he settled himself in one of the backseats andpulledonhissafetyharness.Itwasasthoughtheyweretryingtoforgethewaseventhere.

Adnan was no longer thinking about his dead companions. His thoughts had pushed on, to a fargreaterglorythatawaitedhim.Iftheysucceeded,humanitywouldspeakofitforgenerationstocomeinawedtones.Adnanal-Rimiwasnowofficiallyadeadman.Yethewouldneverbemorevaluable.

Thechoppertookanortherlyroute,onitswaytowesternPennsylvania.ToatowncalledBrennan.AminutelatertheruralVirginiaskywasquietoncemoreexceptforthefallofagentlerainthattookitstimewashingawayalltheblood.

CHAPTER1

HE WAS RUNNING HARD, BULLETS embedding in things all around him. Hecouldn’tseewhowasshooting,andhehadnoweapontoreturnfire.Thewomannexttohimwashiswife.Theyounggirlnext toherwas theirdaughter.Abullet sliced throughhiswife’swrist,andheheardherscream.Thenasecondbulletfounditstargetandhiswife’seyeswidenedslightly.Itwasthesplit-secondbulgeof thepupils that signaleddeathbeforeone’sbraincouldevenregister it.Ashiswifefell,heracedtohislittlegirl’ssidetoshieldher.Hisfingersreachedforhersbutmissed.Theyalwaysmissed.

Heawokeandsatstraightup,thesweattricklingdownhischeeksbeforefinallycreepingontohislong,bushybeard.Hepouredabitofwaterfromabottleoverhisface,lettingthecooldropspushawaytheheat-filledpainofhisrecurrentnightmare.

Ashegotupfromthebed,hislegbrushedagainsttheoldboxhekeptthere.Hehesitatedandthenlifted the top off. Insidewas a ragged photo album.One by one he looked at the few pictures of thewomanwho’dbeenhiswife.Thenheturnedtothephotosofhisdaughter;ofthebabyandtoddlershe’dbeen.Hehadnomorepicturesofherafterthat.Hewouldhavegivenhislifetohaveseenher,evenforamoment,asayoungwoman.Neveradaywentbythathedidn’twonderwhatmighthavebeen.

Helookedaroundthecottage’ssparselyfurnishedinterior.Lookingbackathimweredustyshelvescrammed with books covering an array of subjects. Next to the large window that overlooked thedarkenedgroundswasanolddeskstackedwithjournalsfilledwithhisprecisehandwriting.Ablackenedstonefireplaceprovidedmuchofhisheat,andtherewasasmallkitchenwherehepreparedhissimplemeals.Aminusculebathroomcompletedhismodestlivingarrangements.

Hecheckedhiswatch,tookapairofbinocularsfromthericketywoodentablenexttohisbedandgrabbedafrayedclothknapsackoffhisdesk.Hestuffedthebinocularsandafewjournalsintheknapsackandheadedoutside.

Theoldgravemarkers loomedbeforehim,themoonlightglancingoff theweathered,mossystone.Ashesteppedfromthefrontporchtothegrass,thebriskairhelpedcarryawaytheburningsensationinhisheadfromhisnightmare,butnottheoneinhisheart.Thankfully,hehadsomewheretogotonight,yetwithsometimetospare.Andwhenhehadextratime,heinvariablyheadedtooneplace.

Hewalkedthroughthelargewrought-irongateswherethescrollworkannouncedthatthiswasMt.Zion Cemetery, located in northwest Washington, D.C., and owned by the nearby Mt. Zion UnitedMethodistChurch.The churchwas the oldest black congregation in the city, having been organized in1816byfolkswhodidn’tenjoypracticingtheirfaithatasegregatedhouseofworshipthathadsomehowmissedtheconceptofequality in theScriptures.Thethree-acreparcelhadalsobeenanimportantstop

along the underground railroad, shepherding slaves from the South to freedom in theNorth during theCivilWar.

The graveyardwas bracketed on one side by themassiveDumbartonHouse, headquarters of theNationalSocietyoftheColonialDamesofAmerica,andontheothersidebyalow-risebrickresidentialbuilding. For decades the historic cemetery had suffered from neglect, with toppled tombstones andwaist-high weeds. Then the church had enclosed the graveyard with the fence and built the smallcaretaker’scottage.

NearbywasthefarlargerandfarbetterknownOakHillCemetery,thefinalrestingplaceofmanynotablepeople.However,hepreferredMt.Zionanditsplaceinhistoryasagatewaytofreedom.

He’dbeenengagedasthecemetery’scaretakersomeyearsago,andhetookhisworkveryseriously,makingsurethegroundsandgravesiteswerekeptingoodorder.Thecottagethatcamewiththejobwashisfirstrealhomeinalongtime.Thechurchpaidhimincashwithnobothersomepaperwork;hedidn’tmakenearlyenoughtopayincometaxesanyway.Infact,hemadebarelyenoughmoneytolive.Yetitwasstillthebestjobhe’deverhad.

Hewalkedsouthon27thStreet,caughtaMetrobusandwassoondroppedablockorsofromhis“secondhome”ofsorts.Ashepassedthesmalltentthatatleasttechnicallybelongedtohim,hepulledthebinocularsoutofhisknapsackand from the shadowofa treeused them toeye thebuildingacross thestreet.Hehadtakenthegovernment-issuedbinocularswithhimafterservinghiscountryproudlybeforecompletelylosingfaithinitsleaders.Hisrealnamehehadnotusedindecades.Hehadbeenknownforalong time now asOliver Stone, a name he’d adopted inwhat could only be termed an act of cheekydefiance.

He relatedwell to the irreverent film director’s legendarywork,which challenged the “official”perceptionofhistory,ahistorythatoftenturnedouttobemorefictionthanfact.Takingtheman’snameashisownseemedappropriate,sincethisOliverStonewasalsoveryinterestedinthe“real”truth.

Throughthebinocularshecontinuedtostudythecomingsandgoingsatthemansionthatneverceasedtofascinatehim.ThenStoneenteredhissmalltent,and,usinganoldflashlight,hecarefullynoteddownhis observations in one of the journals he’d brought in his knapsack. He kept some of these at thecaretaker’scottageandmanymoreathidingplaceshemaintainedelsewhere.Hestorednothingatthetentbecauseheknewitwasregularlysearched.Inhiswallethealwayskepthisofficialpermitallowinghimtohavehis tenthereandtheright toprotest infrontof thebuildingacross thestreet.Hetookthatrightveryseriously.

Returning outside, he watched the guards who holstered semiautomatic pistols and heldmachinegunsoroccasionallyspokeintowalkie-talkies.Theyallknewhimandwerewarilypolite,asfolkswerewith thosewho could suddenly turn onyou.Stone always tookgreat pains to show them respect.Youwerealwaysdeferentialwithpeoplewhocarriedmachineguns.OliverStone,whilenotexactly in themainstream,washardlycrazy.

Hemadeeyecontactwithoneof theguards,whocalledout,“Hey,Stone, IhearHumptyDumptywaspushed,passiton.”

Some of the other men laughed at this remark, and even Stone’s lips curled into a smile. “Dulynoted,” he answered back.He hadwatched this very same sentry gun down someone a few feet fromwherehewasstanding.Tobefair,theotherfellowhadbeenshootingathim.

Hehitchedhisfrayedpantsuptighteraroundhisslenderwaist,smoothedbackhislonggrayishwhitehairandstoppedforamomenttoretiethestringthatwastryingandfailingtoholdhisrightshoetogether.Hewasatallandveryleanman,andhisshirtwastoobigandhistrouserstooshort.Andtheshoes,well,theshoeswerealwaysproblematic.

“Itisnewclothesthatyouneed,”afemalevoicesaidinthedarkness.HelookeduptoseethespeakerleaningagainstastatueofMajorGeneralComtedeRochambeau,an

AmericanRevolutionaryWarhero.Rochambeau’sstifffingerwaspointingatsomething,Stonehadneverknown what. Then there was a Prussian, Baron Steuben, to the northwest, and the Pole, GeneralKosciuszko,guardingthenortheastflankoftheseven-acreparkthatStonewasstandingin.Thesestatuesalwaysbroughtasmiletohisface.OliverStonesolovedbeingaroundrevolutionaries.

“Itreallyisthenewclothesthatyouneed,Oliver,”thewomansaidagainasshescratchedherdeeplytannedface.“Andthehaircuttoo,yes.Oliver,itisaneweverythingthatisneeded.”

“I’msure that Ido,”herepliedquietly.“Yet it’sall inone’spriorities, Isuppose,andfortunately,vanityhasneverbeenoneofmine.”

ThiswomancalledherselfAdelphia.Shehadanaccentthathe’dneverbeenabletoexactlyplace,although itwasdefinitelyEuropean,probablySlavic.Shewasparticularlyunsympathetic toherverbs,wedging them into very awkward places in her speech. She was tall and spare with black hair shotthroughwithgraythatsheworelong.Adelphiaalsohaddeeplyset,broodingeyesandamouththatwasusuallycast intoasnarl, thoughStonehadsometimes foundher tobekindhearted inagrudgingsortofway. It was difficult to gauge her age, but she was certainly younger than he. The six-foot-long,freestandingbanneroutsidehertentproclaimed:

AFETUSISALIFE.IFYOUDON’TBELIEVEIT,YOU’REGOINGSTRAIGHTTOHELL.TherewasverylittlethatwassubtleaboutAdelphia.Inlifesheonlysawtherigidlinesofblackand

white.Toher,shadesofgraywerenonexistent,whereasthiswasacitythathadseeminglyinventedthecolor.ThesmallsignoutsideofOliverStone’stentreadsimply:

IWANTTHETRUTHHehadyettofinditafteralltheseyears.Indeed,wasthereeveracitycreatedwherethetruthwas

moredifficulttodiscoverthantheonehewasstandinginrightnow?“Igotogetthecafé,Oliver.Youwouldlikesome?Ihavemoney.”“Nothankyou,Adelphia.Ihavetogosomewhere.”Shescowled.“Anothermeetingiswhereyougo?Whatgooddoesitgiveyou?Itisnotyoungyouare

nomoreandyoushouldnobewalkinginthedark.Thisisdangerousplace.”Heglancedatthearmedmen.“Actually,Ithinkit’sfairlysecurehere.”“Manymenwithgunsyousayissafe?Isayyoucrazy,”sherespondedtestily.“Perhapsyou’rerightandthankyouforyourconcern,”hesaidpolitely.Adelphiawouldmuchrather

argueandlookedforanyopeningtopounceon.He’dlongsincelearnednevertoallowthewomansuchanopportunity.

Adelphiastaredathimangrilyforanothermomentandthenstalkedoff.Meanwhile,Stoneglancedatasignnexttohisthatread:

HAVEANICEDOOMSDAYStonehadnotseenthegentlemanwhoerectedthatsignforalongtime.“Yes,wewill,won’twe?” hemuttered, and then his attentionwas caught by the sudden activity

across the street. Policemen and marked cruisers were assembling in groups. Stone could also seelawmentakinguppositionsatthevariousintersections.AcrossthestreettheimposingblacksteelgatesthatcouldwithstandthepushofanM-1tankopened,andablackSuburbanshotout,itsredandbluegrillelightsblazing.

Knowing instantly what was happening, Stone hurried down the street toward the nearestintersection.Ashewatched throughhisbinoculars, theworld’smostelaboratemotorcadestreamedoutonto17thStreet.Inthemiddleofthisimposingcolumnwasthemostuniquelimousineeverbuilt.

ItwasaCadillacDTSmodelloadedwiththelatestinnavigationandcommunicationtechnology,andit could carry six passengers very comfortably in rich blue leatherwithwood trim accents. The limoboastedautomatic-sensorrecliningseatsandafoldawaystorabledesktopandwasfullyairtightwithitsown internal air supply in case the outside oxygen wasn’t up to par. The presidential seal was

embroidered on the center of the rear seat, and presidential sealswere also affixed on the inside andoutsideofthereardoors.OntherightfrontfenderrodetheU.S.flag.Thepresidentialstandardflewfromapostontheleftfrontfender,signalingthatAmerica’schiefexecutivewasindeedinside.

The exterior of the vehicle was constructed of antiballistic-steel panels, and the windows werephone-book-thickpolycarbonateglassthatnobulletcouldpenetrate.Itranonfourself-healingtiresandsporteddouble-zerolicenseplates.Thecar’sgasmileagewaslousy,butitspricetagof$10milliondidincludeaten-discCDchangerwithsurroundsound.Unfortunately,forthoselookingforabargain,therewas no dealer discount. It was known affectionately as the Beast. The limo had only two knownweaknesses:Itcouldneitherflynorfloat.

AlightcameoninsidetheBeast,andStonesawthemanperusingsomepapers,papersofenormousimportance,nodoubt.Anothergentlemansatbesidehim.Stonehadtosmile.Theagentsmustbefuriousoverthelight.Evenwiththickarmorandbulletproofglassyoudidn’tmakeyourselfsuchaneasytarget.

The limo slowed as it passed through the intersection, andStone tensed a bit as he saw themanglancehisway.ForabriefmomentthepresidentoftheUnitedStates,JamesH.Brennan,andconspiracy-mindedcitizenOliverStonemadedirect eyecontact.Thepresidentgrimacedand said something.Themannexttohimimmediatelyturnedthelightout.Stonesmiledagain.Yes,Iwillalwaysbehere.Longerthanbothofyou.

ThemanseatedbesidePresidentBrennanwasalsowellknowntoStone.HewasCarterGray,theso-calledintelligenceczar,arecentlycreatedcabinet-levelpositionthatgavehimironfistedcontrolofa$50-billionbudgetand120,000highlytrainedpersonnelinallfifteenAmericanintelligenceagencies.Hisempire included the spy satellite platform, the NSA’s cryptologic expertise, the Pentagon’s DefenseIntelligenceAgency,orDIA,andeventhevenerableCIA,anagencyGrayhadonceheaded.Apparently,thefolksatLangleythoughtthatGraywouldshowthempreferenceanddeference.Hehaddoneneither.BecauseGraywasalsoaformersecretaryofdefense,itwasassumedthathewouldshowthePentagon—whichconsumedeightycentsoutofeveryintelligencedollar—loyalty.Thatassumptionhadalsoturnedouttobecompletelyerroneous.Grayobviouslyknewwhereallthebodieswereburiedandhadusedthattobendbothagenciestohisconsiderablewill.

Stone did not believe that oneman, one fallible human being, should have thatmuch power, andcertainlynot someone likeCarterGray.Stonehadknown themanverywelldecadesago, thoughGraycertainlywould not have recognized his oldmate now.Years ago it would’ve been a different story,right,Mr.Gray?

Thebinocularsweresuddenlyrippedoutofhishands,andStonewasstaringatauniformedguardtotingamachinegun.

“Youpulltheseoutagaintolookattheman,Stone,they’regone;yougotit?Andifwedidn’tknowyouwereokay,they’dbegonerightnow.”ThemanthrustthevintagefieldglassesbackintoStone’shandsandmarchedoff.

“Simplyexercisingmyconstitutionalrights,Officer,”Stonerepliedinalowvoicethatheknewtheguardcouldn’thear.Hequicklyputhisbinocularsawayandsteppedbackintotheshadows.Again,oneshouldnotarguewithhumorlessmencarryingautomaticweapons.Stone letouta longbreath.His lifewasaprecariousbalanceeveryday.

Hewentback insidehis tent,openedhisknapsackand,usinghis flashlight, readover a seriesofstorieshe’dclippedfromnewspapersandmagazinesandpastedintohisjournals.TheydocumentedthedoingsofCarterGrayandPresidentBrennan:“IntelligenceCzarStrikesAgain,”claimedoneheadline;“BrennanandGrayMakeDynamicDuo,”saidanother.

It had all come about very quickly. After several fits and starts Congress had dramaticallyreorganized the U.S. intelligence community and essentially put its complete faith in Carter Gray. Assecretary of intelligence,Gray headed theNational IntelligenceCenter, orNIC. The center’s statutory

mandate was to keep the country safe from attacks within or without its borders. Safe by anymeansnecessarywasperhapsthechiefunwrittenpartofthismandate.

However, the beginning of Gray’s tenure had hardlymatched his impressive résumé: a series ofsuicidebombers inmetropolitanareaswithenormouscasualties, twoassassinationsofvisiting foreigndignitaries and then a direct but fortunately unsuccessful attack on theWhite House. Despitemany inCongress calling for his resignation and the dismantlingof the secretary’s authority,Grayhadkept thesupport of his president. And if power slots in Washington were compared to natural disasters, thepresidentwasahurricaneandanearthquakeallrolledintoone.

Thenslowly,thetidehadbeguntoturn.AdozenplannedterroristattacksonAmericansoilhadbeenthwarted.Andterroristswerebeingkilledandcapturedatanincreasinglyhighrate.Longunabletocracktheinnerringsoftheseorganizations,theAmericanintelligencecommunitywasfinallystartingtoattacktheenemyfromwithinitsowncirclesanddamagingitsabilitytohittheUnitedStatesanditsallies.Grayhadunderstandablyreceivedthelion’sshareofthecreditfortheseoutcomes.

Stonecheckedhiswatch.Themeetingwouldbestartingsoon.However,itwasalongwalk,andhislegs,hisusualmodeofgettingaround,were tired today.He left the tentandcheckedhiswallet.Therewasnomoneyinit.

That’swhenhespottedthepedestrian.Stoneimmediatelyheadedafter thisgentlemanasheraisedhishandandataxipulleduptothecurb.Stoneincreasedhispace,reachingthemanasheclimbedintothe cab. His eyes downcast, his hand out, Stone said, “Can you spare some change, sir? Just a fewdollars.”Thiswassaidinapracticed,deferentialtone,allowingtheothermantoadoptamagnanimouspostureifhesochose.Adoptone,Stonethought.Forit’salongwalk.

The man hesitated and then took the bait. He smiled and reached for his wallet. Stone’s eyeswidenedasacrisptwenty-dollarbillwasplacedinhispalm.

“Godblessyou,”Stonesaidasheclutchedthemoneytightly.Stonewalkedasquicklyashecouldtoanearbyhotel’staxistand.Normally,he’dhavetakenabus,

butwithtwentydollarshe’dridebyhimselfforachange.Aftersmoothingdownhislong,disheveledhairandproddinghisequallystubbornbeardintoplace,Stonewalkeduptothefirstcabinline.

Onseeinghimthecabbyhitthedoorlockandyelled,“Getthehellouttahere!”Stone held up the twenty-dollar bill and said through the half-opened window, “The regulations

underwhichyouoperatedonotallowyoutodiscriminateonanybasis.”Itwasclearfromthecabby’sexpressionthathewoulddiscriminateonanybasishewantedtoand

yetheeyedthecashgreedily.“Youspeakprettygoodforsomehomelessbum.”Headdedsuspiciously,“Ithoughtallyoupeoplewasnuts.”

“IamhardlyanutandI’mnothomeless,”Stonereplied.“ButIam,well,Iamjustabitdownonmyluck.”

“Ain’twe all?”He unlocked the doors andStone quickly climbed in and told themanwhere hewantedtogo.

“Sawthepresidentonthemovetonight,”thecabbysaid.“Prettycool.”“Yes,prettycool,”Stoneagreedwithoutmuchenthusiasm.Heglancedout therearwindowof the

cabinthedirectionoftheWhiteHouseandthensatbackagainsttheseatandclosedhiseyes.Whataninterestingneighborhoodtocallhome.

CHAPTER2

THE BLACK SEDAN CREPT DOWN theone-lane road thatwasbracketedby thickwallsoftrees,finallyeasingontoagravelpathbranchingfromtheroad.Ahundredfeetlaterthecarcametoastop.TylerReinke,tall,blond,athleticallybuiltandinhislatetwenties,climbedoutofthedriver’ssidewhileWarrenPeters,earlythirtiesandbarelyfivefootsevenwithabarrelchestandthinningdarkhair,extricatedhimself fromthepassengerseat.Reinkeunlocked thecar’s trunk. Inside lying ina fetalpositionwas a fellow in hismid-thirties, his arms and legs bound tightlywith rubber straps.HewasdressedinbluejeansandaWashingtonRedskinsjacket.Aheavyclothcoveredhismouth,andaplastictarp had been placed under him.Yet, unlikemost people bound and stuffed in car trunks, hewas stillalive,althoughheappeareddeeplysedated.Usingthetarp,themenliftedhimoutofthetrunkandsethimdownontheground.

“Iscoutedthisoutbefore,Tyler,”Peterssaid.“It’sthebestlocation,butabitofahike.We’llcarryhimusingthetarp.Thatwaynothingfromusgetsonhim.”

“Right,”Reinkerepliedashestaredwarilydownthesteep,uneventerrain.“Let’sjusttakeitniceandslow.”

Theymadetheirwaycarefullydown,leaningheavilyintotreetrunksalongtheway.Luckily,ithadnotrainedlatelyandthegroundprovidedfirmfooting.Still,carryingthemanbetweenthemontheplasticwasawkward,andtheyhadtotakeseveralbreaksalongtheway,withthestoutPeterspuffinghard.

TheirpathfinallyleveledoutandReinkesaid,“Okay,almostthere.Let’ssethimdownandtakearecon.”

The twomen drew out night-vision binoculars from a duffel bag thatReinke had strapped to hisback,andtookalonglookaround.

Satisfied,theytookuptheirtrekoncemore.Fifteenminuteslatertheyreachedtheendofthedirtandrock.Thewaterwasnotdeephere,andflatboulderscouldbeseeninseverallocationspokingthroughthesurfaceoftheslow-movingriver.

“Allright,”Peterssaid.“Thisistheplace.”Reinkeopened theduffelbag,pulledout twoobjectsand set themdownon theground.Squatting

next to the larger object, he felt along its contours. Seconds later his fingers found what they weresearchingfor.Aminutelaterthedinghywasfullyinflated.Theotheritemhe’dpulledfromtheduffelwasasmallenginepropthatheattachedtotheboat’sstern.

Peterssaid,“We’llkeeptotheVirginiaside.Thisengine’sprettyquiet,butsoundreallycarriesoverthewater.”Hehandedhiscolleagueasmalldevice.“Notthatwe’llneedit,buthere’stheGPS.”

“Wehavetodunkhim,”Reinkepointedout.

“Right.Figuredwe’ddoitbytheshorehere.”Theytookofftheirshoesandsocksandrolleduptheirpantlegs.Carryingthecaptive,theystepped

alongthesoftdirtandrocksliningthewater’sedgeandthenwadedinuptotheirkneesandloweredhiminto thewarmwateruntil his body—butnot his face—was submerged and thenquicklypulledhimupagain.Theydidthismaneuvertwicemore.

“Thatshouldtoit,”Peterssaidashelookeddownatthesoakedmanwhomoanedabitinhissleep.They hadn’t dunked his face because they thought thatmight rouse him, andmake it more difficult totransporthim.

Theywadedback to shore and thenplacedhim in the inflatabledinghy.Themenmadeonemorecarefulsweepoftheareaandthencarriedthesmallboatouttothewaterandclimbedin.Petersstartedtheengine, and thedinghyspedout into the riverat adecentclip.The tallReinke squattednext to theprisonerandeyedtheGPSscreenastheymadetheirwaydownriverhuggingtheforestedside.

AshenavigatedthecraftPeterssaid,“Iwould’vepreferreddoingthissomewheremoreprivate,butthatwasn’tmycall.Atleastthere’safogrollingin.Icheckedtheweatherforecastandforonceitwasright.We’llputintoadesertedlittlecoveacouplehundredyardsdownfromhere,waituntileverythingisclearedoutandthenheadon.”

“Goodplan,”Reinkereplied.Thetwomenfellsilentasthetinycraftheadedintothegatheringfogbank.

CHAPTER3

ALEX FORD STIFLED A YAWN AND rubbed his tired eyes. A clear voice shotthroughhisearfob.“Stayalert,Ford.”Hegaveabarelynoticeablenodofhisheadandrefocused.Theroom was hot, but at least he wasn’t wearing the Kevlar body armor that was akin to strapping amicrowavetoyourbody.Asusual,thewiresleadingfromhissurveillancekittohisearfobandwristmicwere irritating his skin. The ear fob itselfwas evenmore aggravating,making his ear so sore itwaspainfultoeventouch.

Hetouchedthepistolinhisshoulderholster.LikeallSecretServiceagents,hissuitsweredesigneda littlebig in thechest, todisguise thebulgeof theweapon.TheServicehadrecentlyconverted to the.357SIGfromthenine-millimeterversion.TheSIGwasagoodgunwithenoughstoppingpowertodothejob; however, some of his colleagues had complained about the switch, clearly preferring the oldhardware.Alex,whowasn’tabiggunbuff,didn’tcare.InallhisyearswiththeServicehe’dinfrequentlypulledhisgunandevenmorerarelyfiredit.

ThisthoughtmadeAlexreflectonhiscareerforamoment.Howmanydoorwayshadhestoodpostat?Theanswerwasclearlyetchedinthewrinklesonhisfaceandthewearinessinhiseyes.EvenafterleavingprotectiondetailandbeingreassignedtotheSecretService’sWashingtonFieldOffice,orWFO,todomoreinvestigativeworkatthetailendofhiscareer,herehewasagaintakingupspacebetweenthedoorjambs,watchingpeople,lookingfortheneedleinahaystackthatintendedbodilyharmtosomeoneunderhiswatch.

Tonightwas foreigndignitaryprotection at the lowendof the threat assessment level.He’dbeenunlucky enough to draw the overtime assignment to protect a visiting head of government, finding outaboutitanhourbeforehewasabouttogooffduty.Soinsteadofhavingadrinkinhisfavoritepub,hewasmakingsurenobodytookashotattheprimeministerofLatvia.OrwasitEstonia?

The eventwas a reception at the swankyFourSeasonsHotel inGeorgetown, but the crowdwasdefinitelyB-list,manyhere onlybecause they’dbeenordered to attend.The fewmarginally importantguestswereahandfulofjuniorlevelsfromtheWhiteHouse,somelocalD.C.politicoshopingfordecentnewsprint and a portly congressmanwhowas amember of some international relations committee; helookedevenmoreboredthanAlexfelt.

TheveteranSecretServiceagenthadalreadydonethreeoftheseextra-dutysoiréesinthepastweek.Themonths leadingup toapresidentialelectionwereamanicswirlofparties, fund-raisersandmeet-and-greets.MembersofCongressandtheirstafferswouldhitahalfdozenoftheseeventseveryevening,asmuchfor thefreefoodanddrinkas toshakeconstituents’hands,collectchecksandsometimesevendiscuss the issues. Whenever one of these parties had in attendance anyone under Secret Service

protectionguyslikeAlexwouldtrudgeoutafteralongday’sworkandkeepthemsafe.Alexglancedathispartnerforthenight,atall,beefykidoutofWFOwithaMarineCorpsbuzzcut

who’dbeencalledinatthelastminutetoo.Alexhadafewmoreyearsuntilhecouldretireonhisfederalpension,but thiskidwaslookingatmorethantwodecadesofridingtheSecretService’scareerrollercoaster.

“Simpsongotoutofthisagain,”thekidmuttered.“Secondtimeinarow.Tellmethis:Whoseassisgettingkissedupstairs?”

Alexshruggednoncommittally.Thethingaboutdutylikethis,itgaveyoutimetothink;infact,waytoomuchtime.SecretServiceagentswerelikejailhouselawyersinthatrespect:alotofclockontheirhandstomullthingsover,creatingcomplicatedbitchlistsastheysilentlyguardedtheircharges.Alexjustdidn’tcareaboutthatsideoftheprofessionanymore.

Heglancedatthebuttononhiswristmicandhadtosmile.Themicbuttonhadbeenproblematicforyears. Agents would cross their arms and accidentally turn it on, or else themicwould get stuck onsomehow. And then coming over the airwaves would be a graphic description of some hot chickwanderingthearea.IfAlexhadahundredbucksforeverytimehe’dheardthephrase“Didyousee therackonthatone?”hecould’veretiredalready.Andthenyou’dhaveeveryoneyellingintohismic,“Openmic.” Itwaspretty funny towatchall the agents scrambling tomake sure itwasn’t them inadvertentlybroadcastingtheirlust.

Alexrepositionedhisearfobandrubbedathisneck.Thatpartofhisanatomyremainedonelargetrainwreckofcartilageandfuseddisks.He’dbeenpullingmotorcadedutyonapresidentialprotectiondetailwhenthetruckhe’dbeenridinginrolledafterthedriverswervedtoavoidadeeronabackroad.ThatlittletumblefracturedAlex’sneck.Afteranumberofoperationsandtheinsertionofsomeveryfinestainless steel,his six-foot-three framehadbeen reducedbynearlya full inch, thoughhisposturewasmuch improved, since steel didn’t bend.Beinga little shorterdidn’t botherhimnearly asmuchas theconstantburn inhisneck.Hecould’ve takendisabilityand left theService,but thatwasn’t thewayhewanted togoout.Singleandchildless,hedidn’thaveanyplace togo to.Sohe’dsweatedandpushedhimselfbackintoshapeandgottentheblessingoftheSecretServicemedicostoreturntothefieldaftermonthsondeskduty.

Rightnow,though,atageforty-three,afterspendingmostofhisadultlifeonconstanthighalertamidnumbing tedium—a typical Secret Service agent’s daily existence—he seriously wondered just howdementedhe’dbeentokeepgoing.Hell,hecouldhavefoundahobby.Oratleastawife.

Alexbithisliptomitigatethesmolderingheatinhisneckandstoicallywatchedtheprimeminister’swifecrammingfoiegrasintohermouth.

Whatagig.

CHAPTER4

OLIVERSTONEGOTOUTOFTHETAXI.

Beforedrivingoff,thecabbysaidwithasnort,“Inmybookyou’restillabumnomatterhowfancyyoutalk.”

Stonegazedafterthedepartingcar.He’dlongsincestoppedrespondingtosuchcomments.Peoplewouldthinkwhattheywantedto.Besides,hedidlooklikeabum.

HewalkedtowardasmallparknexttotheGeorgetownWaterfrontComplexandglanceddownatthebrownishwaters of the Potomac River as they licked up against the seawall. Some very enterprisinggraffiti artists,who obviously didn’tmindworkingwithwater right under their butts, had elaboratelypaintedtheconcretebarrier.

AlittleearliertherewouldhavebeentrafficracingalongtheelevatedWhitehurstFreewaythatranbehindStone.Anda jet-fuelednightlifewouldhaveblaredawaynear the intersectionofMStreetandWisconsinAvenue.Georgetownhadmany tonyplaces that promisedgood times for thosewith lots ofreadycashoratleastpassablecredit,neitherofwhichStonepossessed.However,atthislatehourmostrevelershadcalleditanight.Washingtonwas,aboveall,anearly-to-bed-and-early-to-risesortoftown.

ThePotomacRiverwasalsoquiettonight.ThepoliceboatthatregularlypatrolledthewatersmusthaveheadedsouthtowardtheWoodrowWilsonBridge.Thatwasverygood,Stonethought.Thankfully,hedidn’tpassanypoliceofficersonlandeither.Thiswasafreecountry,butsomewhat lessfreeforamanwholivedinacemetery,woreclothesonlyacoupleoflevelsaboveragsandwasoutafterdarkinanaffluentarea.

Stonewalked along thewaterfront, skirted theFrancis ScottKeyPark, trudged under theFrancisScottKeyBridgeandfinallypassedamemorialtothefamouscomposer.Abitofoverkill,Stonethought,forafellowwhohadwrittensonglyricsnoonecouldremember.Theskywasaninkyblackwithsplashesofcloudsanddotsofstars;and,withtherecentlyreinstatedcurfewatnearbyReaganNationalAirport,therewerenoaircraftexhauststreamstomaritsbeauty.However,Stonecouldfeelthethickgroundfogrollingin.Soon,hewouldbeluckytoseeafootinfrontofhim.Hewasdrawingneartoagaudilypaintedbuildingownedbyoneofthelocalrowingclubswhenafamiliarvoicecalledtohimfromthedarkness.

“Oliver,isthatyou?”“Yes,Caleb.Aretheothershere?”Amedium-sized fellowwith a bit of a paunch came into Stone’s line of sight. Caleb Shawwas

dressedinasuitofclothesfromthenineteenthcentury,completewithabowlerhatthatcoveredhisshort,grayinghair;anold-fashionedwatchgracedthefrontofhiswoolvest.Heworehissideburnslong,andasmall,well-groomedmustachehoveredoverhislip.

“Reuben’shere,buthe’s,uh,relievinghimself.Ihaven’tseenMiltonyet,”Calebadded.Stonesighed.“Notasurprise.Miltonisbrilliantbutabsentmindedasalways.”WhenReubenjoinedthem,hedidn’tlookwell.ReubenRhodesstoodoversixfootfourandwasa

verypowerfullybuiltmanofaboutsixtywithalongishmassofcurlydarkhairdappledwithgrayandamatchingshort,thickbeard.Hewasdressedindirtyjeansandaflannelshirt,withfrayedmoccasinsonhisfeet.Hewaspressingoneofhishandsintohisside.Reubenwaspronetokidneystones.

“Youshouldgototheclinic,Reuben,”Stoneimplored.Thebigmanscowled.“Idon’tlikepeoplepokingaroundinsideme;hadenoughofthatinthearmy.

SoI’llsufferinsilenceandinprivacyifyoudon’tmind.”Astheywerespeaking,MiltonFarbjoinedthem.Hestopped,peckedthedirtwithhisrightfootthree

times, thenwith his left two times and finished this offwith a series ofwhistles and grunts. Then herecitedastringofnumbersthatobviouslyhadgreatsignificanceforhim.

Theotherthreewaitedpatientlyuntilhefinished.Theyallknewiftheyinterruptedtheircompanionin themidstofhisobsessive-compulsive ritual,hewouldhave to start again, and itwasgetting ratherlate.

“Hello,Milton,”Stonesaidafterthegruntsandwhistleshadceased.MiltonFarblookedupfromthedirtandsmiled.Hehada leatherbackpackoverhisshoulderand

wasdressedinacolorfulsweaterandcrisp-pressedkhakipants.Hewasfivefootelevenandthinwithwire-rimglasses.Heworehisgrayingsandy-blondhaironthelongside,whichmadehimresembleanaginghippie.However,therewasanimpishlookinhistwinklingeyesthatmadehimappearyoungerthanhewas.

Miltonpattedhisbackpack.“Ihavesomegoodstuff,Oliver.”“Well,let’sgetgoing,”saidReuben,whowasstillholdinghisside.“I’vegottheearlyshiftatthe

loadingdocktomorrow.”Asthefourheadedoff,ReubendrewnexttoStoneandslippedsomemoneyintohisfriend’sshirtpocket.

“Youdon’thavetodothat,Reuben,”Stoneprotested.“Ihavethestipendfromthechurch.”“Right!Iknowtheydon’tpaymuchtopullweedsandpolishtombstones,especiallywhentheythrow

inaroofoveryourhead.”“Yes,butit’snotlikeyouhavemuchtospareyourself.”“YoudidthesameformeformanyayearwhenIcouldn’tpayanyonetohireme.”Hethenadded

gruffly,“Lookatus.Whataragtagregimentweare.Whenthehelldidwegetsooldandpathetic?”Caleblaughed,althoughMiltonlookedstunnedforamomentuntilherealizedReubenwasjoking.“Oldagealwayssneaksuponone,butonceit’sfullypresent,theeffectsarehardlysubtle,”Stone

commenteddryly.Astheywalkedalong,Stonestudiedeachofhiscompanions,menhe’dknownforyearsandwho’dbeenwithhimthroughbothgoodandbadtimes.

Reuben had graduated fromWest Point and served three distinguished tours in Vietnam, earningvirtuallyeverymedalandcommendationthemilitarycouldconfer.Afterthat,he’dbeenassignedtotheDefenseIntelligenceAgency,essentiallythemilitarycounterpartoftheCIA.However,heeventuallyquittheDIA and became a vocal protester ofwar in general and theVietnamWar in particular.When thecountryquitcaringaboutthat“littleskirmish”inSoutheastAsia,Reubenfoundhimselfamanwithoutacause.HelivedinEnglandforatimebeforereturningtotheStates.Afterthat,heavydosesofdrugsandburnedbridgeslefthimwithfewoptionsinlife.He’dbeenfortunatetorunintoOliverStone,whohelpedturnhis lifearound.Reubenwascurrentlyon thepayrollofawarehousecompany,whereheunloadedtrucks,exercisinghismusclesinsteadofhismind.

CalebShawheld twin doctorates in political science and eighteenth-century literature, thoughhisbohemiannaturefoundcomfortinthefashionsofthenineteenthcentury.LikeReuben,he’dbeenanactiveprotester during Vietnam, where he lost his brother. Caleb had also been a strident voice against the

administrationduringWatergate,whenthenationlostthelastvestigesofitspoliticalinnocence.Despitehisacademicprowess,hiseccentricitieshadlongsincebanishedhimfromthemainstreamofscholarship.HecurrentlyworkedintheRareBooksandSpecialCollectionsDivisionattheLibraryofCongress.Hismembershipintheorganizationhewasmeetingwithtonighthadnotbeenincludedonhisrésuméwhenhesoughttheposition.Federalauthoritiesfrownedonpeoplewhoaffiliatedwithconspiracy-theorygroupsthatheldtheirmeetingsinthemiddleofthenight.

MiltonFarbprobablypossessedmoresheerbrilliancethantheothermembersputtogether,evenifheoftenforgottoeat,thoughtthatParisHiltonwasaplacetostayinFranceandbelievedthatsolongashepossessedanATMcard thathealsohadmoney.Achildprodigy,hehad the innatecapacity toaddenormousnumbers inhisheadandapurephotographicmemory—hecouldreadorseesomethingonceandnever forget it.Hisparentshadworked ina travelingcarnival,andMiltonbecameaverypopularsideshow,addingnumbersinhisheadfasterthansomeoneelsecouldonacalculator,andreciting,back,withoutfaltering,theexacttextofanybookshownhim.

Years later, after completing graduate school in record time, he was employed at the NationalInstitutesofHealth,orNIH.Theonlythingsthathadpreventedhimfromhavingasuccessfullifewerehisworsening obsessive-compulsive disorder, or OCD, and a strong paranoia complex, both problemsprobably causedbyhis unorthodox childhoodon the carnival circuit.Unfortunately these twindemonstended to erupt at inappropriate times.After sending a threatening letter to the president of theUnitedStatesdecadesagoandbeinginvestigatedbytheSecretService,hisNIHcareerquicklycametoanend.

StonefirstmetMiltoninamentalhealthfacilitywhereStoneworkedasanorderlyandMiltonwasapatient.WhilehewashospitalizedMilton’sparentsdiedandlefttheirsonpenniless.Stone,who’dcometoknowofMilton’sextraordinaryintellectualability,persuadedhisdestitutefriendtotryoutfor,ofallthings,Jeopardy!Miltonqualifiedfortheshow,and,hisOCDandotherissuestemporarilykeptincheckwithmedication,hewentontodefeatallcomersandearnasmallfortune.HenowhadathrivingbusinessdesigningcorporateWebsites.

Theyheadeddownclosertothewaterwheretherewasanoldabandonedjunkyard.Ataspotnearbytherewasagreatclumpofraggedbushes,halfinthewater.Fromthishidingplacethefourmanagedtopullout a long, crusted rowboat thathardly looked seaworthy.Undauntedby this, they tuggedoff theirsocksandshoesandstuffedthemintheirbags,carriedtheboatdowntothewaterandclimbedin.Theytookturnsattheoars,withbigReubenpullingthelongestandhardest.

There was a cooling breeze on the water, and the lights of Georgetown and, farther south,Washingtonwereinviting,thoughfadingwiththeencroachingfog.Therewasmuchtolikeabouttheplace,Stonethoughtashesatinthebowofthelittlevessel.Yes,muchtolike,butmoretoloathe.

“Thepoliceboat’supnear the14thStreetBridge,”Caleb reported. “They’reonanewschedule.Andthey’vegotHomelandSecuritychopperpatrolscirclingtheMallmonumentseverytwohoursagain.Itwasonthealerte-mailatthelibrarytoday.”

“Thethreatlevelwaselevatedthismorning,”Reubeninformedthem.“Friendsofmineintheknowsayit’sallbullshitcampaignposturing;PresidentBrennanwavingtheflag.”

StoneturnedaroundandstaredatMilton,whosatimpassivelyinthestern.“You’reunusuallyquiettonight,Milton.Everythingallright?”Miltonlookedathimshyly.“Imadeafriend.”Theyallstaredathimcuriously.“Afemalefriend,”he

added.ReubenslappedMiltonontheshoulder.“Youolddogyou.”“That’swonderful,”Stonesaid.“Wheredidyoumeether?”“Attheanxietyclinic.She’sapatienttoo.”“Isee,”Stonesaid,turningbackaround.“That’sverynice,I’msure,”Calebaddeddiplomatically.

TheymovedslowlyundertheKeyBridge,keepingtothemiddleofthechannel,andthenfollowedthecurveof the river south.Stone tookcomfort that the thickening fogmade thempractically invisiblefromshore.Federal authoritiesdidn’t tolerate trespassersverywell.Stonewatched as land came intoview.“Alittletotheright,Reuben.”

“Nexttimelet’sjustmeetinfrontoftheLincolnMemorial.Itrequiresmuchlesssweatonmypart,”thebigmancomplainedashehuffedandpuffedontheoars.

TheboatmadeitswayaroundthewesternsideoftheislandandintoasmallstripofwaterknownappropriatelyasLittleChannel.Itwassoisolatedherethatitseemedimpossiblethatthey’dglimpsedtheU.S.Capitoldomejustminutesago.

Reachingshore,theyclimbedoutandhauledtheboatupintothebushes.Asthementrudgedsinglefilethroughthewoodstowardthemaintrail,OliverStonecarriedanextraspringinhisstep.Hehadalothewantedtoaccomplishtonight.

CHAPTER5

THELATVIANENTOURAGEFINALLYretired,andAleximmediatelyhitchedaridetoafederalcophangout,notfarfromtheSecretService’sWFO.TheestablishmentwascalledtheLEAPBar.TheacronymLEAPprobablymeantnothingtothelaypersonbutwasverywellknowntofederallawenforcementtypes.

LEAPstood for “LawEnforcementAvailabilityPay.” Inexchange forbeingavailableat least tenhours a day forwork that required a badge, a gun andmore than amodicum of guts, federal officersreceivedfromtheirrespectiveagenciesa25percentbumpintheirbasepay.NamingthebarLEAPwasabrilliantmarketingmove by the saloon owners because the place had been packed fromday onewithpistol-totingmenandwomen.

Alexpassedthroughthefrontdoorandedgeduptothebar.Onthewallfacinghimweredozensofarm patches with the insignias of law enforcement agencies. Adorning the other walls were framednewspaperarticlesofheroicdeedsbytheFBI,DEA,ATF,FAMandothersuchagencies.

WhenAlexsawher,hegrinned,inspiteofwantingtoremaincoolandunaffectedbyherpresence.“Beefeatermartiniontherockswithnottwo,orfour,butthreeplumpolives,”shesaid,eyeinghim

withanaccompanyingsmile.“Goodmemory.”“Yeah,it’sreallytoughconsideringyouneverorderanythingelse.”“How’sDOJtreatingyou?”Kate Adams was the only bartender of his acquaintance who was also a Department of Justice

lawyer.Shehandedhimhisdrink.“Hunky-dory.How’stheServicetreatingyou?”“ThepaycheckskeepcomingandIkeepbreathing.That’sallIask.”“Youreallyshouldraiseyourstandards.”Katemoppedup thebarasAlexkeptshootingdiscreetglancesherway.Shewasfive-sevenwith

slendercurvesandshoulder-lengthblondhaircurlingaroundalongneck.Shehadhighcheekboneswithaslim,straightnosebetween,leadingdowntoashapelychin.Infact,everythingaboutherwascoolandclassicaluntilyougottotheeyes.Theywerelargeandgreenand,toAlex,evidencedafiery,passionatesoullurkingwithin.Single,aGS-15andinhermid-thirties—he’dcheckedonthegovernmentdatabase—Katelookedfiveyearsyoungerthanthat.Itwasapity,Alexthought,sincehelookedeverybithisage,thoughhisblackhairhadnotyetstartedtothinorgray.Why,hedidn’tknow.

“You’regettingskinny,”sheremarked,breakingintohisthoughts.“Beingoutofprotection,I’mnotstandingaroundshovelinginhotelfood,andIactuallygettowork

outinsteadofsittingmybuttonaplanefortenhoursatacrack.”He’dbeencominghere foroveramonthandchitchattingwith thewoman.Hewanted todomore

thanthat,though,andnowtriedtothinkofsomethingthatwouldholdherattention.Hesuddenlyglancedatherhands.“Sohowlonghaveyouplayedthepiano?”

“What?”Katesaidinasurprisedtone.“Yourfingersarecalloused,”heobserved.“Asuresignofapianoplayer.”Shelookedatherhands.“Orfromacomputerkeyboard.”“No.Computerkeyscallousthetipsonly.Pianokeyshitthefullupperpartofthefinger.Andthat’s

notall.Youchewyournailsdowntothenubs.Youhaveadentinyourleftthumbnail,ascaronyourrightindexfinger,andyourleftpinkieisalittlecrooked,probablyfromabreakwhenyouwereakid.”

Katestaredatherfingers.“Whatareyou?Somesortofhandexpert?”“AllSecretServiceagentsare.I’vespentagoodchunkofmyadultlifelookingathandsinallfifty

statesandabunchofcountriesoverseas.”“Why?”“Becausepeoplekillwiththeirhands,Kate.”“Oh.”HewasabouttosaysomethingelsewhenagroupofFBIagentswho’djustgottenoffthelastshift

burstin,strodeenmassetothebarandstartedorderinginloudvoices.Alex,pushedawaybytheirsheernumber, tookhisdrinkandsataloneatasmall table inacorner.However,hisgazeremainedfixedonKate.TheBureauboysweregivingthelovelybartendertheirfawningattention,whichirritatedthehelloutoftheSecretServiceagent.

AlexfinallyturnedhisattentiontotheTVboltedtothewall.ItwastunedtoCNN,andanumberofbarpatronswerelisteningintentlytothepersonspeakingonthescreen.Alexcarriedhisdrinkovernearthesetsohecouldhearbetter,andwatchedarepeatofanearlierpressconferenceheldbyCarterGray,thenation’sintelligencechief.

Gray’sphysicalappearanceinstantlygaveoneassurance.Thoughshortinstature,hehadtheweightypresenceofgranitewithhisburlyshoulders,stoutneckandwideface.Heworeglassesthatgavehimaprofessionalair,whichwasn’tsimplyafaçade;hewastheproductofsomeofthefinestschoolsinthecountry.Andeverythingtheschoolshadn’ttaughthim,hehadlearnedthroughalmostfourdecadesinthefield.Hedidnotseemcapableofbeingeitherintimidatedorcaughtoffguard.

“InruralsouthwestVirginiathreeallegedterroristswerefounddeadbyafarmerlookingforalostcow,” the secretary of intelligence announced with a completely straight face. The mental image thisconjuredmadeAlexwanttolaugh,butCarterGray’sgravedemeanorextinguishedanydesiretochuckle.

“Forensicevidencesuggeststhesemenhadbeendeadforatleastaweekandperhapslonger.Usingthe information database at theNational IntelligenceCenter,we have confirmed that one of themwasMuhammad al-Zawahiri,whowebelievewas connected to theGrandCentral suicide bombing and issuspectedofrunninganEastCoastdrugringaswell.AlsokilledwereAdnanal-Rimi,believedtobeoneof al-Zawahiri’s foot soldiers, and a third man whose identity is still unknown. Using intelligencedevelopedbyNIC,theFBIhasarrestedfiveothermenwithconnectionstoal-Zawahiriandconfiscatedalargequantityofillegaldrugs,cashandweapons.”

Gray knew how to play theWashington game perfectly,Alex thought.He’dmade sure the publicknewthatNICwastheonewho’ddonetheheavylifting,buthe’dalsocreditedtheFBI.SuccessinD.C.wasmeasured in budget dollars and extra scrapsof turf.Anybureaucratwho forgot this did so at hisextremeperil.Yeteveryagencyoccasionallyneededfavorsfromitssisterorganizations.Grayhadclearlycoveredhisbasesthere.

Graycontinued.“Oneofthemostinterestingfacetsofthisincidentisthat,basedontheinvestigationsofar,itseemsthatal-Zawahirikilledhistwocompanionsandthencommittedsuicide,althoughitmay

turnoutthathisdeathwassomehowrelatedtohisdrugtrafficking.Regardless,webelievethatthislatestdevelopmentwillsendanothershockwavethroughterroristcommunitiesatatimewhentheUnitedStatesismakingclearinroadsinthefightagainstterror.”Hepausedandthensaidinacrispvoice,“AndnowI’dliketointroducethepresidentoftheUnitedStates.”

This was the standard drill for these press conferences. Gray would report the actual details instraightforward language. Then the charismatic James Brennan would follow and knock the politicalbaseball out of the parkwith a hyperbole-laced speech that left no doubt as towho could protect thecountrybest.

AsBrennanbeganhisremarks,Alexturnedhisattentionbacktothebarandtheladythere.HeknewthatawomanlikeKateAdamsprobablyhadtwentyguysgunningforher,andmostofthemwereprobablybetterprospectsthanhewas.Shealsoprobablyrealizedhowhefelt;hell,she’dprobablyknownhowhefeltaboutherevenbeforehedid.

Hesquaredhisshouldersandmadeuphismind.Well,there’snoreasonIcan’tbetheoneguyoutoftwentywhosticks.

However,halfwaytothebarhestopped.Anothermanhadcomeinandwalkedrightuptoher.TheimmediatesmileonKate’sfacewasenoughtotellAlexthatthispersonwasspecial.Hesatbackdownand continued towatch as theymoved off to the end of the barwhere they could talk in private. Thefellowwasa littleshorter thanAlex,butyounger,powerfullybuiltandhandsome.ToAlex’spracticedeyetheman’sclotheswereveryexpensive.Hewasprobablyoneofthosehigh-pricedcorporateattorneysor lobbyists who plied their trade on K Street. Every time Kate laughed it was like a meat cleaverdirectlyintheSecretServiceagent’sskull.

He finished his drink andwas about to leavewhen he heard his name.He turned and sawKatemotioningtohim.Hereluctantlywalkedover.

“Alex,thisisTomHemingway.Tom,AlexFord,”shesaid.When they shook hands, therewas such strength inHemingway’s grip thatAlex,whowas pretty

strong, felt apain shootuphis arm.He stareddownat theman’shand, amazedat the thicknessof thefingersandtheknucklesthatlookedlikewedgesofsteel.HemingwayhadthemostpowerfulsetofhandstheSecretServiceagenthadeverseen.

“SecretService,”Hemingwaysaid,glancingatAlex’sredlapelpin.“You?”Alexasked.“I’mwithoneofthoseplaceswhereI’dhavetokillyouifItoldyou,”Hemingwayrepliedwitha

knowingsmile.Alex could barely conceal his contempt. “I’ve got buddies at theCIA,DIA,NRO and theNSA.

Whichoneareyou?”“I’mnottalkinganythingthatobvious,Alex,”Hemingwayansweredwithachuckle.AlexglancedatKate.“SincewhenisDOJmixedupwithfunnyguyslikehim?”Hemingwaysaid,“Actually,we’reworkingonsomethingtogether.MyagencyandDOJ.Kate’sthe

leadcounsel.I’mtheliaison.”“I’msureyoucouldn’taskforabetterpartnerthanKate.”Alexputhisemptyglassdown.“Well,I

bettergetgoing.”“I’msureI’llseeyouinheresoon,”Katesaidquickly.Alexdidn’tanswerher.HeturnedtoHemingway.“Hanginthere,Tom.Anddon’tletitslipwhere

youdoyourUncleSamtime.Iwouldn’twantyoutogetbustedforhavingtokillsomepoorbastardwhoasked toomanyquestions.”Hestrodeoff.With theeyes in thebackofhishead thatallSecretServiceagents seemed topossess,Alex felt theman’sgazeburning intohim.Whathedidn’t sensewasKate’sworriedlookfollowinghimout.

Okay,Alexthoughtasthecrispnightairhithim,thatwasarealcrappyendtowhatupuntilthenwas