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“Maybe he’s getting tired?”

Kennedy shook her head. “No, there’s something else going on. Something I haven’t told you about yet because I wanted to check on a few things before I got everybody worried.” Kennedy moved her hands from her hips and folded them across her chest. “I picked up something in Aziz’s voice. When you”—Kennedy pointed to Stansfield—“told him that he would be doing us a favor by killing himself, because when it was all over we would pull President Hayes from his bunker and so forth . . .” Kennedy made a rotating motion with her finger. “When you were finished, the first thing he said in response was, ‘You are too sure of yourself, Mr. Stansfield. Things are not always as they appear.’ Did you notice the tone in his voice?” Kennedy looked at her boss hard and gave him a second to recall what Aziz’s words had sounded like.

She continued, “He sounded like he knew something that we didn’t.” Stansfield looked at her as if she was reading a little too far into things, and she responded, “Let me fill you in on some other information first, and then it might make more sense.” Stepping toward her boss, Kennedy looked up at the generals and said, “That phone call I received from Colonel Fine this morning was in regard to three names he was checking for me. Three names we got from Harut. One of the names had three matches. The first was an officer in the Jordanian Army, and he’s already been ruled out. The second, and we thought the most likely, was an eighteen-year-old Palestinian kid with suspected ties to Hamas. And the third was a man known as the Thief of Baghdad. It turns out the third of the three Mustafa Yassins is the Iraqi who was in charge of looting all of the banks and vaults after they invaded Kuwait.”

General Flood shook his head. “It’s obviously the second one, Irene.”

“It could be,” conceded Kennedy with a nod, “but what if it’s the third one? What if Aziz brought along this Thief of Baghdad, knowing there was a good chance the president would get to his bunker? What if, at this very moment, this man is working on getting the president out of his bunker?” Kennedy stopped and looked each man in the eye, one at a time, while she gave them a chance to think about it. “What if Aziz said to Thomas, ‘You are too sure of yourself. Things are not always as they appear,’ because he knows President Hayes is not as safe as we thought?”

Everyone’s eyes got a little bigger as Kennedy finished stating her case. General Flood looked down at Stansfield and said, “I think this is something we need to bring to the attention of the vice president.”

Stansfield stared back at him blankly for a while and then said, “Not quite yet. We need a little more proof before we go to him.”

“Well, how do we get that proof?”

“I have a pretty good idea,” Stansfield replied with a nod.

34

RAPP BACKED DOWN the long cross hall of the second floor. Each step was placed carefully. Heel first and then toe. The cross hall, which was more a long room than a hallway, was brightly bathed in the late morning sunlight. Rapp and Adams, dressed in their black Nomex jumpsuits, stood out against the light-colored walls and carpet. They felt secure, though. Having been out of the stash room for over an hour, they had placed all five of the surveillance units and checked each one to make sure it was working. At no time during their sweep did they see or hear a sign of the terrorists. Even when they checked out the back staircase that led to the rooftop guard booth, there had been nothing. With the units in place, Rapp felt infinitely more comfortable, now that he had a secure base from which to operate.

How they felt back at Langley would be a different matter, entirely. Rapp had known this before he stepped out of the stash room with Adams some seventy minutes ago, but that was just tough shit. There were too many people sticking their fingers in the pie. This thing needed to be streamlined, and someone needed to take action. Sitting around and playing cautious was not in Rapp’s nature, especially where Aziz was concerned. Rapp knew whom he was dealing with, he knew what Aziz was up to, and if nobody else could figure it out, to hell with them. This was not one of those moments in life where disagreement was acceptable. This wasn’t a policy decision where it was difficult to quantify the benefits of one course over the other. This was black and white. Rapp knew what had to be done, and everyone else could kiss his ass if they weren’t on board.

As they made it back to the president’s bedroom, Adams entered first and then Rapp. Rapp stood in the doorway for a moment and took one last look to his left, straight ahead, and to his right. Behind him, on the other side of the bedroom, a stench was beginning to drift from the body of the dead terrorist. Rapp noticed it and cringed at the thought of how bad the smell would get in another day.

Adams tapped him on the shoulder and said, “I’ve gotta piss like a racehorse.”

Rapp stepped back into the room and nodded to the bathroom. Adams went in and closed the door behind him. A couple minutes later he reappeared, a look of relief on his face.

“You just wait.” Adams looked at Rapp. “You’re too young to understand, but someday you’ll know what it’s like.”

“Yeah, if I only live that long.” Rapp took the thick barrel of his silencer and pointed to the closet. “Let’s check on Anna.”

Adams went in first and pressed the hidden button. As the closet organizer swung out, Adams stepped into the stash room. Rapp poked his head in and said to Rielly, “Do you need to use the restroom?”

Rielly nodded enthusiastically.

“Follow me, and don’t make any noise.” Then looking to Adams, Rapp said, “Monitor the stairwells until we’re back, and let me know if you have any movement.”

Rielly stood and followed Rapp quietly, which was easy to do in her stocking feet. Walking into the bathroom, Rielly closed the door behind her and for the first time saw herself in the mirror. She had one hell of a shiner on her cheek, and her skin looked a little pasty. Without wasting too much time in front of the mirror, she got down to business and took care of her more immediate needs. In the middle of that task, she was struck by the bizarre thought that she was sitting on President Hayes’s toilet. The same toilet that quite a few presidents had used.

When she was done, she closed the lid. Hanging on a bar next to the sink were two sets of washcloths and hand towels. Rielly couldn’t resist. She felt disgusting and dirty. Opening the faucets, she doused her face with water and began to rub a bar of soap vigorously in her hands. After cleaning and drying her face quickly, she had another idea. Rielly soaped up one of the washcloths and wetted another and one of the hand towels. Next, she checked the medicine cabinet and grabbed the president’s shaving kit. Wrapping everything up in a larger bath towel, Rielly opened the door and found Rapp waiting for her.

Rapp

looked at the towels and asked, “What’s that all about?”

Clutching the bundle in her arms, she looked up and said, “A little sponge bath.”

Rapp pointed to himself with a big smile on his face and said, “For me.”

Rielly almost laughed, but instead shook her head. “No, for me.”

Rapp kept the smile on his face as the two of them went back into the stash room. Once inside, the door was again closed and bolted. Rapp looked at the radio and knew that he had some explaining to do. Deciding it was better to get on with it, he knelt down and powered up the unit. Milt Adams had the monitor opened on his chest and was checking the reception on each surveillance unit again.

When the unit was ready, Rapp picked up the handset and said, “Iron Man to control. Do you read? Over.” It didn’t surprise Rapp that a voice came back right away—he had expected that—it was the particular voice that surprised him.

“Iron Man, you’ve been a little busy since we last spoke.”

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