[SIX]

Camp David

Gatoctin Mountains, Maryland

1720 9 June 2005

"Well, that's interesting, Matt," the president of the United States said, looking across the low table at Secretary of Homeland Security Hall. "The secretary of defense is on his way here."

"In connection with this?" Hall asked.

The president nodded.

"He tried to call me at the White House. Natalie's taking calls like that. He asked her if she was familiar with a Gray Fox operation under way. She was not and said so. Whereupon Beiderman told her he had General Withers in his office and Withers said he knew there was one, with some connection to a Moroccan airfield."

"Oh, shit!"

"Natalie and the secretary of defense are always supposed to be kept in the loop about a Gray Fox operation."

"And I didn't tell either of them," Hall said.

"A simple oversight, Matt? Or on purpose?"

"I just didn't do it, Mr. President," Hall said. "I suppose subconsciously I didn't want Beiderman to: I don't know. And I guess I didn't tell Natalie-didn't want to tell Natalie because I didn't want to hear her clear arguments that running a Gray Fox was ill advised."

"The result of which is that I now have Natalie and Beiderman with severely ruffled feathers. Justifiably ruffled feathers, Matt, and I will have to atone for that."

"With all respect, sir, you're wrong," Hall said. He stood up. "Natalie and Beiderman know we're old friends. They will understand why you brought me out here to explain why I have to go. They will have no reason to be angry with you. I screwed this up and I'll take the rap."

The president met his eyes but didn't say anything.

"If you'll excuse me, Mr. President, I'll go find a typewriter and prepare my resignation. With your permission, sir, I think that it would be best if I'm gone by the time Secretary Beiderman gets here."

After a long moment, the president said, softly, "I'm really sorry, old pal."

"Not half as sorry as I am, Mr. President," Hall said.

He was halfway across the room when the light on the telephone flashed.

The president picked it up and said, "Hello? "Who is this? Who's calling? "This is the president, General Naylor. I picked up Secretary Hall's line. He's not here at the moment. May I give him a message?"

Hall stopped and asked with his eyes if he should, or perhaps could, stay.

The president signaled him to come back and sit down.

"Well, let's have it, please, General Naylor."

Thirty seconds later, the president said, "General, you probably won't understand this but this is one of those times when bad news is also good news. Please relay my deepest appreciation and admiration to General McNab and all his men "Oh, here's Secretary Hall, General. Perhaps you'd like to tell him what you just told me?"

He handed the telephone to Hall.

In the phone booth in Tampa, General Naylor faintly heard the president of the United States say, "Jesus Christ, Matt, talk about getting saved by the fucking bell!"

[ONE]

Camp David

Catoctin Mountains, Maryland

1730 9 June 2005

There was a discreet knock at the door of the president's living room and then the door was slowly swung open. The president, who was sitting slumped back in a pillow-upholstered armchair across a low table from Secretary of Homeland Security Hall-who was talking on the telephone-waved Secretary of Defense Frederick K. Beiderman into the room and then onto a couch facing the table.

The president raised an index finger in a signal that could mean "Wait" or "Quiet while Hall's on the phone."

Beiderman sat down, more than a little tensely, on the edge of the couch.

The president gestured toward the steward and asked with a raised eyebrow if Beiderman wanted anything. Beiderman shook his head. The president signaled to the steward that he should refill his and Hall's glasses.

Beiderman looked between the president and Hall. The president touched his ear, which Beiderman understood to mean that he was supposed to listen to Hall's end of the conversation.

He didn't hear much.

"The secretary of defense just came in," Hall was saying. "I'll have to get back to you, Charley."

He looked at Beiderman as he replaced the handset in its cradle.

The president smiled at Beiderman.

"What an unexpected pleasure, Mr. Secretary," he said. "Actually, Matt and I were just talking about you."

Secretary Beiderman was visibly not amused.

"All your righteous indignation should be directed at me," the president said. "Everything that's been done-or should have been done and wasn't-was at my orders."

Beiderman didn't say anything.

"No comment?" the president asked.

"Mr. President, are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"Two things of importance," the president said. "The first, and this comes from a source which so far has been right on the money, is that a group of Somalian terrorists stole the 727 in Angola to crash it into the Liberty Bell. The plane made a stop in Abeche, Chad, to change its markings and install fuel bladders and now-right now-is apparently en route from there to someplace unknown on its way to Philadelphia."

"May I ask why I have not been informed, Mr. President?" Beiderman asked, coldly.

"The second thing," the president went on, ignoring the question, "is that the police commissioner of Philadelphia-who had to be told of the possibility-intends to inform the mayor of Philadelphia at four-fifteen tomorrow afternoon. The ramifications of that are obvious: It will be received by the public with a yawn as just another elevation of the terror threat color code-or with mass hysteria. Matt and I have been waiting for you so that we can set up a conference call between here and Natalie Cohen, so that we may chew the situation over between us and decide what we should do."

"How reliable is your source?" Beiderman said. " The Liberty Bell ? Jesus Christ, why the Liberty Bell?"

"That's everyone's reaction, frankly. We really don't know why it's a target. Matt was just on the telephone with Major Castillo, who is in Philadelphia, and who hopes to have an answer to that later tonight."

"Who the hell is Major Castillo?" Beiderman blurted.

"The man I charged with finding out who among the intelligence community knew what about the missing airplane and when they knew it," the president said. "He's Matt's executive assistant."

"I don't understand, Mr. President."

"I know, and it's my fault you don't," the president said. "I'm sure you may have a question or two:"

He chuckled.

"Am I missing something?" Beiderman snapped. "Is there something funny here that I'm missing?"

"It's not funny at all," the president said. "Levity, flippancy, is often the outward reaction of people who are terrified." He paused. "And I am, Fred."

Beiderman looked at him intently for a moment.

"How reliable is your source, Mr. President? That someone intends to crash that airplane into the Liberty Bell?"

"On one hand, he apparently is not the kind of source in which the CIA, the FBI, the DIA, etcetera, etcetera, would place much credence, as they have chosen either (a) not to tap him for information or (b) to ignore him. He's a Russian arms dealer. Perhaps the most infamous of that breed. A fellow named Aleksandr Pevsner:"

"I know that name," Beiderman interrupted.

"So far, as I've said, what he's given us has been right on the money."

"Given you how?"

"Through Major Castillo."

"I'm having a hard time understanding this, Mr. President," Beiderman said. "What's in it for Pevsner? Why should we trust a man like that?"

"I think we'd better take it from the top," the president said.