"If I were paranoid," Hall said, "and, God knows, I'm starting to feel that way, I'd say there's a conspiracy on the part of Schmidt and the DCI to tell us-the president-only what they want him to hear."

"That's a pretty strong accusation, Matt," the president said.

"What other interpretation can we put on it, Mr. President?" Hall responded.

"Mr. President," Beiderman said, "wouldn't giving Matt anything and everything he asked for as soon as he asked for it come under that memo Natalie Cohen sent around?"

The president looked at him for a moment.

"Point taken, Fred," he said.

"More important," Beiderman went on, "Major Whatsis: Castillo has come closer to finding this airplane than anybody else. And isn't that the priority? Neutralizing the goddamned airplane before these lunatics fly it into the Liberty Bell or do something else insane with it?"

"Are you suggesting, Fred, that we don't rein Major Castillo in?" the president said.

"Exactly. I was about to suggest sending him to Fort Bragg to bring Delta and Gray Fox-which, I submit, we're really going to have to use to take this airplane out-up to speed on this, but:"

"But what?"

"Do you know General McNab?" Beiderman asked. "I mean, personally? Feisty little bastard. He's not going to listen to a major. Maybe I better go down there myself, or at least get on the horn to McNab."

"Charley Castillo flew McNab's helicopter around Iraq in the first desert war," Hall said. "And after 9/11, Charley commanded one of McNab's Delta Force operations in Afghanistan. McNab will listen to him."

"Especially," the president said, "after we tell General McNab that I personally ordered him to Fort Bragg."

[FOUR]

The Oval Office

The White House

1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW

Washington, D.C.

1910 9 June 2005

Fifteen minutes after Natalie Cohen, the national security advisor, had telephoned John Powell, the director of the Central Intelligence Agency, to tell him "the president would like you to come to the White House as soon as you can," the director's Yukon XL was passed onto the White House grounds by the Secret Service.

As he got out of the vehicle at the side door of the White House, he heard the familiar sound of Marine One, the President's Sikorsky VH-3D "Sea King" helicopter, on its final approach to the South Lawn.

He reached the outer office of the Oval Office before the president did. Natalie Cohen was there.

"Natalie," Powell said, nodding at her, and then he asked, "Where's he been?"

"At Camp David," she said.

"What's going on?"

"I think we're both about to find out, John," she said.

The president came into the outer office just over a minute later.

"John," he said. "Good. You're here."

"Good evening, Mr. President."

Beiderman, Hall, and Powell nodded at each other but didn't speak.

"I'd like a moment with the DCI before we start this," the president said. "And I just remembered: Natalie, did you call Fort Bragg?"

"No, sir. I thought you were going to."

"How about doing that right now?" the president ordered.

The president waved Powell ahead of him into the Oval Office, closed the door, and waved him into one of the chairs before his desk. The president remained standing, looking out the window onto the meticulously manicured lawn, as he composed his thoughts.

"Yes, Mr. President?" DCI Powell asked.

After a moment, the president turned and spoke. "I was hoping you'd be prepared to tell me whether the missing 727 is in Chad or not. Or, if it's not, where it might be."

"There will be satellites over Abeche at first light, Mr. President. Actually, there are-have been-satellites over that site for some time, but the heat-seeking, metallic-mass-seeking sensors haven't come up with anything we can rely on. With daylight:"

"In other words, you don't know?" the president interrupted.

"I'm afraid I don't, Mr. President."

"I don't know where it is," the president said, "but I know it's not in Abeche, Chad."

"Then Matt Hall's information was not reliable, Mr. President?"

"Matt Hall's information was right on the money," he replied, meeting Powell's eyes. "We have confirmation that the airplane was there, that the seats have been removed, fuel bladders loaded aboard, and that after new registration numbers were painted on it, that it took off for an unknown destination."

Powell shifted uncomfortably in his chair and after a moment said, "I have to ask, Mr. President, why you think that information is credible?"

"Because I authorized a Gray Fox insertion and that's what they reported." The president let that sink in and then went on: "Our problem now is to find where the airplane is now, something more precise than on its way to Philadelphia."

Powell raised his eyebrows but didn't respond.

"I wasn't sure whether I should get into this with you now, John, but I think I will. If nothing else, it will clear the air between us before the others come in here."

"Yes, Mr. President?"

"You took action based on faulty intelligence someone gave you, action that I had to correct."

"I don't think I follow you, Mr. President. What action did I take?"

"You relieved for cause your station chief in Luanda, the causes including a serious breach of security, exceeding his authority, and: Jesus Christ: conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman. What the hell was that? Making sure the spikes held him to the cross?"

"Obviously, sir, you're making reference to Major Miller."

"Yes, I am."

"My information came from his immediate supervisor, sir."

"Well, giving any kind of classified information to my personal representative doesn't constitute a breach of security of any kind," the president said.

"No, sir. Of course not. I was apparently misled."

"Yeah, you were. Miller didn't make a pass at that woman; she made a pass at my man."

"If those are the facts, sir, I will:"

"Those are the facts," the president interrupted.

": take immediate steps to rectify the situation."

"So far as Major Miller is concerned, that won't be necessary," the president said. "I've done that myself. And as far as rectifying the rest of it, I've always found it useful to be able to trust the people who work for me."

The president locked eyes with Powell for a moment.

"Would you ask the others to come in now, please?" he said.

[FIVE]

West Seltzer and West Somerset Streets

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

1925 9 June 2005

Castillo could see much better out of the deeply tinted windows of the five-year-old, battered and rusty BMW sedan Betty Schneider had selected from the cars lined up in the Internal Affairs Division garage than he thought he would be able to.

"Nice neighborhood," he said, looking at litter-strewn streets and sidewalks and the run-down brick row houses, many of them with concrete blocks filling their windows.

Betty had told him she had used the car before but didn't think anyone had made it.

"It was a forfeiture," Betty said. "But from a customer, not a dealer. It looks like something a less than successful dealer would drive, but no dealer is going to make it. Or, so far, none has."

"What's the drill?" Dick Miller asked.

He was in the backseat, now dressed in a torn and soiled light blue jumpsuit, a light zipper jacket, and a well-worn pair of white Adidas shoes. He had the general officer's model pistol in the side pocket of the jacket; he would have to keep his hand in the pocket to conceal the outline of the pistol, but there was no other place to put it. His cellular telephone was in the chest pocket of the coveralls.

"We'll loop through here again," Betty said. "This time, when we're at the corner I'll stop and you get out. Quickly, and don't slam the door. The turn-the-interior-lights-on thingamajib in the door has been disabled. When you're out, walk quickly away in the opposite direction. Go to the corner, stop, look around, then walk slowly back toward the corner and either lean against one of the buildings or sit on one of the stoops. Our guy is supposed to be in one of the buildings. He'll wait to see if you attract any attention."