• 2:00 A.M.

We're starting our first run down the canyon here." U.S. Marine Corps Major George Herman "Woody" Woods, thirty-five-year-old pilot of the presidential helicopter Marine One and volunteer pilot of one of six attack helicopters scrambled to fly the night reconnaissance for the presidential rescue operation stood in the command post center alongside Bill Strait, National Security Advisor Marshall, and Captain Diaz watching the replay of the dual videos he had shot flying through the treacherous canyons above the fast-moving mountain stream.

"We're coming over the water. Slow it please," Woods said. The Secret Service tech running the video slowed it down. "This section here, the searchlight's off a little but-stop it there, please."

The tech did. And they could see what looked like parts of some kind of reflective material in the water.

"Move it on slowly," Woods said. The tech did. "There's a tree branch. It's not moving. Neither is whatever it is in the water. That current's moving fast. If they were trash bags or some kind of plastic they'd be going with it. Second video please. Same area."

The tech touched a keyboard and Woody's second pass-over started. "Slow it, slow it," he said as the helo came in over the same area. This time the searchlight was focused on the spot where the reflective material had been seen in the first video. "Stop it, please." The tech did. The water where the reflective pieces had been was black. Nothing but water. "There was something there before, second pass it's gone."

"Enhance the video," Strait said, and looked to Woods. "What do you think?"

"I think we ought to get back out there and damn fast."

"Woody," Strait said, "something you should know. There's a good chance Hap is with the president."

"What?"

"A man fitting his description was with POTUS underground. I tried to raise him by cell and BlackBerry. Nothing. We don't know what's going on."

"You don't think he's in on something."

"Woody, we don't know. You find them, just be damned careful. Our foremost objective is the president."

"I understand."

• 2:22 A.M.

The four were tucked under a thick blanket of trees high on a steep hillside when they saw the three attack helicopters. They came in high, then quickly dropped down and out of sight on the far side of the stream a good mile from where they were. Sixty seconds later the helos rose up again and then started slowly, one after the other, down along the stream, their searchlights swinging back and forth, covering the entire area.

"They've landed ground troops," Hap said.

Immediately the president looked to José and spoke in Spanish. "Where do we go from here?"

"Over the top of this hill and then down for about twenty minutes. After that we cross the stream again."

"That's where we hit the open space you were talking about."

"Yes."

"How open?"

"Two hundred yards. Then we are past it and back onto hard rock and through forest, going down toward the resort."

"How far then?"

"You want to go fast, yes?"

"Yes."

"Then we go down a chute between the rocks, a couloir as the French call it. It is shale rock and very steep, but we can save nearly two miles of trail and almost forty minutes of time. And because of the rock formations above, it would be hard for the helicopters."

The president looked to Marten and Hap and translated, then asked. "Do we chance this chute in the darkness, this couloir?"

"Your decision," Marten said.

The president turned to Hap. "How's the shoulder?"

"I'm alright. Go for the chute."

"Want another pain pill?"

"No," Hap said, then, "yes… please."

"Mr. President," Marten said quietly. "We didn't get the chance to rest before. We're getting worn down. Not just Hap, all of us. We need to take the chance and rest a little or we're not going to make it at all."

"You're right," the president looked to Hap. "You be our timetable. When you're ready, say so."

"Yes, sir."

• 2:32 A.M.

"Ready," Hap said, and abruptly stood. The others got up with him, ready to move.

Marten held them up. "Hap, at the risk of telling you your business, our job is to see that the president gets to the resort and up in front of those people. Your pilot friend Woody's job and the job of everyone else they brought in is to find him and take him the hell out of here."

"What are you saying?" Hap asked.

"You have a 9mm and a machine pistol. Give me one or the other."

Hap hesitated then reached into his belt under the survival blanket, slid out the 9mm Sig Sauer, and gave it to Marten.

"Know how to use it?"

"Yeah, I know how to use it."

• TRAIN #243, PARIS TO BERLIN, 2:48 A.M.

Victor lay back against his seat, unable to sleep. Across from him a young woman sat reading, her delicate features lit by a small overhead lamp. He glanced down the rest of the car. Save for one other reading lamp it was dark, the handful of other passengers sleeping.

The girl across from him turned the page and kept on reading, seemingly unaware he was watching her. She was blond and not particularly attractive but in her own way-how she held herself as she read, the way she turned the pages with one finger-intriguing. He thought she might be twenty-five, maybe a little older. He saw no wedding band and wondered if she was married and simply chose not to wear a ring, or if she was single, or perhaps even divorced. He watched her for a little longer then looked away to stare off vacantly into the semidarkness.

He had looked away purposely because he was afraid he would be caught staring at her and that such a thing might make her nervous. Still, he couldn't help thinking about her. The train would reach Berlin in a little over five hours. What would happen then? Did she have friends, family, someone to meet her? Or was she alone? And if she was, did she have a job or a home, at least somewhere to go?

Suddenly he felt an almost overwhelming need to protect her. As if she were his wife or his sister or even his daughter. It was then and for the first time he realized why he was here and why they had sent him. To take action to protect her and people like her before something happened. He was a preventive force.

It was why he had done what they had asked in Washington, why he had done as Richard had asked and walked through the Atocha Station terrorist bombing site in Madrid, why he had killed the jockeys in Chantilly, and why Richard had put him on this train, sending him to Berlin and then on to Warsaw, where he had promised him the most significant situation of his life. Where, if he carried out his directives properly, a major step toward halting the spread of terrorism would begin. The circumstances he knew would be complex, even dangerous, but he wasn't afraid or even nervous. Instead he was honored, knowing that if he succeeded he would be helping to protect the lives of innocent people everywhere. People like the young woman reading her book across from him now.