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Piper stepped into the executive office first, and Aziz followed. The chairman of the DNC stopped abruptly just inside the room and looked at the president, who was on the phone.
President Hayes placed a hand over the mouthpiece and said, “Take a seat. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Aziz stood teetering on the balls of his feet, caught in complete indecision. He swallowed once to try to quench his quickly drying throat and then looked to Piper, who was whispering something to him. Slowly, Aziz took his focus off the president.
Piper motioned to one of the couches by the fireplace and in a hushed voice said, “Let’s have a seat over here. He’ll be with us in a minute.”
Aziz followed Piper to the couch and calculated his chances of rushingthe president. The door they had just come through was still open, and he knew that there were agents posted outside two of the room’s other three doors. Aziz had also guessed that the president had security measures in and around his desk. With only a small composite knife as a weapon, he couldn’t risk alerting the agents posted outside the office until the president was within reach. But he was so close. Aziz calculated that he could cover the twenty feet to the desk in two seconds at the most. It would take the agents almost that long to draw their weapons. Think fast, he told himself as a film of sweat began to form on his skin.
Piper plopped down on the couch and patted the seat next to him. Aziz nodded and stepped past Piper. It was time to sit or move. Aziz looked across the room at the president, who had just swiveled in his chair and turned his back to them. Hayes was looking out the window while he talked on the phone; his head was all that could be seen above the back of his black leather chair. In that split second Aziz decided to move.
He checked the underside of his belt to make sure the knife was there and then brought his left hand up toward his chest. Aziz looked down at the watch and selected the correct button that would send out the signal to the men waiting in the truck. He was about to make history, about to strike a blow for all of Islam. Piper said something from behind him, but Aziz did not hear the words. His attention was elsewhere.
Slowly, he brought his other hand up to the watch. Aziz brought his gaze down to his wrist to make sure he pressed the right button. His heart was pumping so fast he felt his temples begin to throb. A layer of sweat on his skin glistened, and his hands were clammy. So moist were his palms that he stopped short of pressing the button and decided to wipe the sweat from his palms one last time. He ran his opened hands up and down the thighs of his pants twice, reminding himself while he did it how difficult it was to hold the small knife. When his palms were as dry as he could get them, he brought the watch back up and went to press the button.
His right index finger poised over the button, Aziz sensed movement and stopped everything. He looked up. From the door to the right of the president’s desk, a woman in a bright yellow blouse came walking quickly forward. She continued around the nearest side chair to where the president was sitting and deposited a stack of papers on his desk.
Aziz exhaled a deep breath, his body trembling in a release of energy as he did so. Piper said something again, and Aziz turned around to face him.
“Sit down, Prince Kalib.”
Aziz looked back toward the president and the woman, and then sat. A bead of nervous sweat ran down his forehead, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand.
“Are you feeling all right?” Asked Piper. “You look a little warm.”
Aziz turned and smiled. “It is a little warm in here, but nothing compared to my country.”
“That’s a good point.”
Slowly, Aziz began to regain his composure. He reminded himself of how far he had come, and of how close he was to obtaining everything he had struggled for. He needed the president to come to him. He needed to be patient. Aziz had waited this long; another minute would be nothing. When the president went to shake his hand, it would begin.
SECRET SERVICE AGENT Warch walked into the president’s secretary’s office, which was sandwiched in between the Cabinet Room and the Oval Office.
“Sally, I need to see him ASAP.”
Sally Burke finished writing something and looked up, smiling. “Good morning, Jack.” The president’s secretary could tell by the tone of Warch’s voice that he was in a hurry, but he could take a number with all of the other people who daily streamed into her office in an attempt to get some face time with America’s highest elected official. “He’s in with someone right now. It’ll probably be twenty minutes to a half an hour.”
Warch shook his head. “It can’t wait that long. I have to see him right away.”
Burke had had many dealings with Warch over the last five months, but she had never seen him look quite so concerned.
“I don’t know what you want me to do, Jack. He’s meeting with a foreign dignitary. We can hardly go bursting in.”
“He’s meeting with what?” asked an angered Warch. “I didn’t see anything on his schedule.”
Burke sat up a little straighter, somewhat surprised by the agent’s tone. “It was a last-minute change.”
“Who is he meeting with?”
“Russ Piper and ah—” Burke looked down at her desk. “Prince Kalib.”
Warch’s forehead creased. “I don’t remember seeing a Prince Kalib on
the WHAVS list.” WHAVS, pronounced “waves,” stood for White House Access Visitor System. The uniformed division used the system to screen guests for any criminal and/or mental history that could be threatening to the president.
Burke looked up sheepishly. “I don’t know what to say. The DNC added him to the list late last night.”
“Goddamnit,” cursed Warch through clenched teeth. “How many times do I have to tell you people that no one gets in to see him unless we’ve done a complete check?” Warch backed away from the desk and thought about his options. If he barged in on a meeting with a foreign dignitary and everything turned out to be a false alarm, Hayes would have his ass. Warch looked back to the president’s secretary. “Where is Prince Kalib from?”
