Conway said: “You look dubious, Agent Dean. What’s bothering you?”

“We’re talking about a woman who was forced into this situation by accident. You’re aware she was brought to the morgue as a drowning victim? Admitted to the hospital after she woke up?”

“Yes,” said Silver. “It’s a bizarre story.”

“She was a lone woman-”

“She’s no longer alone. She now has a partner.”

“This hardly sounds like a planned terrorist operation.”

“We’re not saying this hostage taking was planned. The timing was forced on them. Maybe it started as an accident. Maybe she fell overboard while being smuggled into the country. Woke up in the hospital, realized she was going to be questioned by authorities, and she panicked. She could be one arm of the octopus, part of a much larger operation. An operation that’s now been prematurely exposed.”

“Joseph Roke isn’t Russian, he’s American.”

“Yes, we know a bit about Mr. Roke from his service record,” said Silver.

“He’s hardly your typical Chechen sympathizer.”

“Did you know that Mr. Roke had explosives training in the army?”

“So have a lot of other soldiers who didn’t wind up as terrorists.”

“Mr. Roke also has a history of antisocial behavior. Disciplinary problems. Are you aware of that?”

“I know he was given a dishonorable discharge.”

“For striking an officer, Agent Dean. For repeatedly disobeying orders. There was even some question about a serious emotional disorder. One army psychiatrist considered a diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia.”

“Was he treated for that?”

“Roke refused any and all medications. After he left the army, he essentially went into seclusion. We’re talking about a guy just like the Unabomber, who withdrew from society and nursed oddball grudges. With Roke, it was all about government conspiracies, delusions of persecution. This is a very bitter man who believes his government has misused him. He’s written so many letters to the FBI about his theories that they have a special file on him.” Silver reached for a folder on the coffee table and handed it to Gabriel. “A sample of his writing. It’s a letter he sent to them in June, 2004.”

Gabriel opened the folder and read the letter.

… I’ve provided you with case after case of documented heart attacks that were secretly induced by PRC-25 mixed with burning tobacco. The combination, as our Defense Department well knows, results in a deadly nerve gas. Scores of veterans have been murdered this way, so the Veterans Administration can save millions of dollars in health care costs. Is there no one at the FBI who cares?

“That’s just one of dozens of nutty letters he wrote to the Bureau, to his Congressmen, to newspapers and TV stations. The Washington Post got so much of his paranoid crap, they just toss out anything with his name on it. As you can see from that sample, the man is intelligent. He is verbal. And he’s utterly convinced that the government is evil.”

“Why isn’t he under psychiatric care?”

“He doesn’t believe he’s crazy. Even though everyone else can see he’s clearly around the bend.”

“Terrorists wouldn’t recruit a psychotic.”

“They might if he’s useful.”

“You can’t control them. You can’t predict what they’ll do.”

“But you can incite them to violence. You can reinforce their beliefs that their own government is against them. And you can use their skills. Roke may be paranoid, but he also knows his explosives. This is an embittered loner with military training. The perfect terrorist recruit, Agent Dean. Until we have evidence to the contrary, we have to assume that this situation has national security implications. We don’t think Boston PD is up to handling this on their own.”

“So that’s why John Barsanti is here.”

“Who?” Silver looked bewildered.

“Agent Barsanti from the FBI’s deputy director’s office. The Bureau doesn’t normally send someone straight from Washington when there’s a local field office to call on.”

“I wasn’t aware the FBI had stepped in,” said Silver. An admission that startled Gabriel. The DNI’s office wielded authority over the FBI; Silver should certainly have known about Barsanti’s involvement.

“The FBI won’t be handling the rescue,” said Silver. “We’ve authorized a special antiterrorist unit from the Strategic Support Branch to come in.”

Gabriel stared at him. “You’re bringing in a team from the Pentagon? A military operation on US soil?”

Senator Conway interjected: “I know it sounds illegal, Agent Dean. But there’s a recent directive called JCS Conplan 0300-97. It authorizes the Pentagon to employ antiterrorist military units within our borders when the situation calls for it. It’s so new, most of the public doesn’t even know about it.”

“And you think this is a good idea?”

“Frankly?” The senator sighed. “It scares the hell out of me. But the directive is on the books. The military can come in.”

“For good reason,” said Silver. “In case you haven’t noticed, our country is under attack. This is our chance to take out this nest before it can launch a strike. Before more people are endangered. In the larger scheme of things, this could prove to be a lucky accident.”

“Lucky?”

Too late, Silver registered his own insensitivity. He held up his hand in apology. “I’m sorry, that was a terrible thing for me to say. I’m so focused on my mission, I sometimes get a case of tunnel vision.”

“It may also be limiting your view of the situation.”

“What do you mean?”

“You look at this siege and automatically you think terrorism.”

“I have to consider it. They forced us to adopt this attitude. Remember that.”

“To the exclusion of all other possibilities?”

“Of course not. It’s perfectly possible we’re just dealing with a pair of crazies. Two people who are trying to avoid capture after shooting that police officer in New Haven. We’ve considered that explanation.”

“Yet you focus only on terrorism.”

“Mr. Wynne wouldn’t have it any other way. As director of National Intelligence, he takes his job seriously.”

Conway had been watching Gabriel, reading his reactions. “I can see you’re having problems with this terrorism angle.”

“I think it’s too simple,” said Gabriel.

“And what’s your explanation? What are these people after?” asked Silver. He had settled back in his chair, long legs crossed, hands relaxed on the armrests. Not a sign of tension in his lanky frame. He’s not really interested in my opinion, thought Gabriel; he’s already made up his mind.

“I don’t have an answer yet,” said Gabriel. “What I do have are a number of puzzling details that I can’t explain. That’s why I called Senator Conway.”

“What details?”

“I just attended the postmortem on that hospital guard. The man our Jane Doe shot to death. It turns out he wasn’t a hospital employee at all. We don’t know who he was.”

“They ran fingerprints on him?”

“He doesn’t turn up on AFIS.”

“So he has no criminal record.”

“No. His fingerprints don’t turn up on any databases we’ve checked.”

“Not everyone has fingerprints on file.”

“This man walked into that hospital carrying a weapon loaded with duplex rounds.”

“That’s a surprise,” said Conway.

“What’s a duplex round?” said Silver. “I’m just a lawyer so you’ll have to explain it to me. I’m afraid I’m illiterate when it comes to guns.”

“It’s ammunition in which more than one bullet is loaded into a single cartridge case,” said Conway. “Designed for greater lethality.”

“I just spoke to Boston PD’s ballistics lab,” said Gabriel. “They recovered a cartridge from the hospital room. It’s an M- 198.”

Conway stared at him. “ US Army military issue. That’s not what you’d expect a security guard to carry.”

“A fake hospital guard.” Gabriel reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He smoothed it flat on the coffee table. “And here’s the next detail that concerns me.”