After disconnecting, Sherry Lincoln moved quickly back into first class to find Matt Ward still on the line with Secret Service Headquarters in Washington. He motioned her to wait while he finished and disconnected.

“What are they telling you?” she asked.

“Sit tight. Violate no laws.”

“I figured they’d have to say that,” she replied.

He grimaced. “This is really delicate, Sherry. I can do almost anything to protect him physically, but I can’t protect him from this legal document or a legal arrest. How about you?”

She turned to check on the President, who was still reading, then sat next to Matt and relayed the details of her call. “I’ve got to phone back in a few minutes.”

“If it’s what we were discussing, an arrest warrant, they can’t block it, can they?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, Matt. That’s… a lawyer question, I suppose.”

“Does he have one?”

She stared at him. “Not for this sort of thing. You think I need to line one up?”

“Wouldn’t hurt. Provided there’s a chance of arrest.”

She checked her watch once more, watching her hand shake slightly in the process. There would be just enough time to brief the President before calling back, and she moved to her original seat to fill him in before pulling the seat phone from its cradle and redialing the appropriate numbers.

Jack Rollins answered personally.

“Hold on, Ms. Lincoln. I’m connecting a conference with Rudolph Baker, Assistant Secretary of State, and Alex McLaughlin at Justice.”

She repeated the names out loud for the President’s benefit and felt his hand on her shoulder. “Let me talk to them, Sherry,” he said. “You’ve paved the way nicely.”

John Harris took the phone, his distinctive rumble of a voice filling the transmitter, instantly recognizable to the men on the other end.

“So, folks, what are we dealing with out here?” he asked.

“Mr. President, Rudy Baker at State. Sir, I spoke a few minutes ago with my counterpart in Athens. The… for want of a better term, legal instrument…”

“Call the damn thing what it is, Rudy!” someone interjected. “It’s an arrest warrant, Mr. President, and this is Alex McLaughlin, Assistant Attorney General.”

“Thank you, Mr. McLaughlin,” John Harris said. “Mr. Baker, you were saying?”

“Yes, sir. I was saying that this arrest warrant was issued by a court in Lima, Peru, on a complaint filed by the Peruvian government, and specifically, the current president of Peru, Alberto Miraflores. It charges you under the Treaty Against Torture for violations of… well… Alex?”

“Mr. President, there was apparently a raid on a drug factory in Peru during your term that ended very badly.”

“I remember it all too well,” John Harris said, picturing the gruesome photos of charred corpses in a burned-out building. “It was a tragic mistake. Langley went off on an unauthorized crusade and hired a bunch of criminals.”

“They’re trying to hold you criminally liable for that, Mr. President.”

“That’s absurd, Alex.”

“Yes, sir. I’m sure it is, but that’s what the warrant alleges, according to Greek authorities.”

The Assistant Secretary of State spoke up. “Sir, the Greeks sound very relieved your pilot got you out of there. They weren’t interested in arresting you and sending you off to Peru, or trying you there, or anything else. But my counterpart emphasized that they had no choice legally but to honor the warrant when they received it.”

“And, gentlemen, what about Rome?” Harris asked.

There was a telling silence from Washington before Baker spoke.

“Sir, Peru’s counsel took the warrant… which is now called an Interpol warrant… before an Italian magistrate earlier today and had it, in effect, certified. The Italian Foreign Ministry tells me that, just like the Greeks, they will have no choice but to execute it. In other words, they’ll have to arrest you as soon as you arrive.”

“I see,” John Harris said, quietly drumming his fingers on the armrest of the plush leather seat. “Gentlemen, those charges are nonsense. I don’t mind hanging around Rome a few days if I can get some help clearing this up. Is that feasible? Can State help?”

“Sir, Alex McLaughlin again. Let me be perfectly frank, Mr. President. What they will do is place you under some sort of house arrest. I’m sure no one’s going to try to dump you in a cell. Britain didn’t even do that to Pinochet. But what undoubtedly will happen is this. Peru, through their lawyers, will ask whatever Italian court they’re using to immediately extradite you to Peru. Now, we haven’t had time to study the ins and outs of their extradition procedure, but as you may know, under the Treaty Against Torture, they really only have two basic choices in the absence of letting you claim sovereign immunity, and Britain’s pretty much blown that away with Pinochet.”

“In other words,” Harris said, “the Doctrine of Sovereign Immunity, the idea that a former head of state can’t be held liable for crimes committed as an official act while in office, has been invalidated by Britain’s rulings in the Pinochet case, with respect to allegations of torture under this treaty.”

“Yes, sir. Well stated. That’s exactly right.”

“You forgot I was a lawyer, Alex?”

“No, sir. But few of us are current on that treaty. Anyway, Mr. President, they have only two basic choices. Send you to Lima for trial, or try you themselves in Italy. The latter just won’t happen, so there is a chance that you could be extradited, and we doubt you’d get a fair trial in Peru under the current regime.”

“These are not good choices, fellows. Let me ask you this. The captain of this aircraft happens to be a U.S. Air Force reservist. If he should be so inclined, is there some other nearby nation I should visit instead of Rome? I don’t want to run from this, but I’m not interested in being Miraflores’s victim either.”

John Harris could hear Rudy Baker clear his throat. “Ah, well, we haven’t had time to poll surrounding nations, but I doubt, sir, that there is anywhere we could divert you to, other than U.S. soil, that would be safe.”

“And I couldn’t get safe conduct to one of our embassies?”

“Not unless you could land in an embassy courtyard, which would be a bit disastrous in a jetliner. Even then, we’d be under incredible pressure to turn you over on the theory that not even an embassy can be used as refuge from this treaty.”

“So, what would you suggest?” Harris asked. “Mr. Rollins? Can you help me out here?”

More embarrassed sighs on the other end.

“Mr. President, this is Jack Rollins. We’re going to keep working on this and see what options we can develop quickly. Maybe… maybe your pilot there could slow down or hold in the Rome area and buy us some time, depending on your fuel, I guess.”

“I’ll look into that,” Harris replied. “But to sum up the options as they exist right now, I’m heading for an arrest and possible extradition in Rome, and we have no reason to believe it wouldn’t be the same situation in Paris, Geneva, Bonn, Madrid, or maybe even some off-the-wall place like Malta?”

“All the ones you just mentioned are cosigners of the treaty, sir,” Baker replied. “Give us twenty minutes. We’ll poll virtually every country within range.”

“Very well, gentlemen.”

“And, Mr. President? President Cavanaugh is following this and is very concerned. He’s asked me to tell you that, and to tell you we’ll do everything within our constitutional power to… to help end this.”

“Tell the President I deeply appreciate it.”

“Call us back in fifteen minutes, sir.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Mr. President, wait a second,” Alex McLaughlin added.

“Yes?”

“Ah, I… while we’re working on this, I have to tell you, sir, that it would be… ah…”

“Spit it out, Alex,” John Harris said gently.