THE MOTORCADE STEADILYpushed its way through the heavy downtown traffic; three big black Chevy Suburbans with government plates, lights flashing, sirens whooping, and no police escort. When the vehicles pulled through the heavy black gate of the White House, the pack of reporters standing on the north lawn dropped everything and ran to get into position. It was rather comical watching the pencil-thin TV journalists jostle with the more sturdy photographers and cameramen. Normally there was a pecking order, and reporters who had the most seniority in covering the White House were politely allowed to the front, but not this morning. The pressure was on. Producers were barking over ear pieces and editors were screaming into mobile phones. The rumor mill was in overdrive, and a scoop mentality was driving the pack.

The dark tinted windows of the trucks frustrated even the brightest flashes of the cameras as the photographers tried to get a glimpse of who was inside the middle vehicle. Through experience they all knew to disregard the first and last truck, which would only contain burly men in suits, with short haircuts and guns. If you hung out in Washington, let alone at the White House, this type of setup was common place. Important people being driven about in dark vehicles, with dark windows and bodyguards, was very Washington.

To these savvy reporters, such a sight would normally elicit no more than a passing curiosity, but not this morning. The lack of information or usable footage of anyone either entering or leaving the White House drove the reporters, photographers, and cameramen into a paparazzi-like frenzy.

The doors to the first and third vehicle sprang open and a group of men wearing lapel pins, sunglasses, and flesh-colored earpieces stepped onto the curb and made a path for their boss. Attorney General Stokes got out of the backseat of the middle vehicle with Peggy Stealey on his heels.

Reporters began shouting questions, photographers snapped photos, and cameramen jostled everyone in an attempt to get more than one second of unobscured footage.

Stokes strode through the phalanx without flinching. He been through this enough times to know it was important to stand tall, maintain a neutral expression, and ignore the cameras. Shielding your eyes from the flashes only made you look like you were trying to hide something.

"Attorney General Stokes!" one of the reporters shouted. "Is it true the president was evacuated from the White House last night?"

"Where is the president right now?" another reporter shouted.

Stokes stayed the course. His years of lawyering had taught him to usually ignore such questions, but this morning, after what they had just been through, he decided to have a little fun. "I'm headed inside to meet with him."

The attorney general and the tall blonde entered the building, and left the press looking at each other skeptically. They'd been on the White House press secretary all morning demanding to know where the president was, and they'd gotten nowhere. The fact that the press secretary refused to answer their questions was proof that the president wasn't where he was supposed to be.

A few reporters continued to shout questions after Stokes had entered the building, but stopped as soon as the heavy white doors were closed. When the din of griping had died down they grew aware of another noise. A noise they were all familiar with. They ran northward, away from the building, and began searching the sky. The distinctive thumping was that of a helicopter, and there was only one helicopter in the world that was allowed to penetrate the airspace around the White House.

One by one they began cursing Tim Webber for not allowing them to cover the arrival of the president from wherever the hell it was that he'd been.

Peggy Stealey was more than aware that this was her first time in the Oval Office, and she wished her appearance matched the occasion. She found her hair, makeup, and choice of clothes severely wanting. As always, Attorney General Stokes was dressed impeccably in one of his three-button Hugo Boss suits. Stealey was sure one of his people had gone over to his house where Martin's perfect little wife had everything packed in the attorney general's Orvis garment bag.

Stealey didn't have people, not yet anyway, so she was still stuck in the boring gray Talbots pantsuit that she'd thrown on in the middle of the night. The outfit was to women's clothing what vanilla was to ice cream. There was absolutely nothing exciting or memorable about it, and if that wasn't bad enough she didn't even have anything to dress it up with. No necklace, no earrings, not even a bracelet, a watch, or be-jeweled hair clip. She was stuck with a plain elastic band to hold her signature blond hair back and a nondescript pair of black Jill St. John flats on her feet.

Stealey had been in the White House dozens of times to meet with other senior administration officials, and had even sat in the back row of a few cabinet meetings. But on those occasions she was just one face among dozens. This morning was different in so many ways. This was history in the making, and Stealey was planning on helping shape it. Stokes had told her about his rebuke of the vice president and the approving look he'd received from the president. The opportunity was there. All they had to do was take it, and Stealey had a plan that would suit everyone's needs.

President Hayes entered the Oval Office with a spring in his step. Jones and Kennedy followed a few steps behind. Stealey felt a little better upon noticing that the president was in a pair of khaki pants and a white button-down shirt. That brief reprieve vanished a second later as a diminutive man in a starched white jacket whisked into the room from the opposite direction. He was holding a dark blue suit, pressed shirt, tie, and a pair of shiny dress shoes.

The president ignored his two guests and said, "Carl, you're the best."

With a beaming smile the president's Navy steward, who had stood his post for twenty-two years, said, "It's nice to have you back at the White House, sir."

Hayes had no doubt that Carl knew more about what had transpired over the last twelve hours than all but his top advisors. "Thank you, Carl. Would you please hang that stuff in my bathroom and bring us some coffee?"

"Absolutely, sir."

Hayes turned to face Stokes and Stealey, who were standing by the fireplace. He glanced at Stealey, and she noticed the brief questioning look as he tried to place her. The look was very subtle. He tried to mask it with a smile, and then his eyes moved quickly to Stokes. Stealey guessed miserably that given her appearance, it was likely that the president thought her a member of the attorney general's security detail and not one of his top lawyers.

The president clapped his hands together and said, "Martin, you and your people did a phenomenal job this morning."

"Thank you, Mr. President. It was a great team effort."

"It sure was."

"Mr. President," called out Kennedy as she walked behind the president's desk, "would you mind if I used your phone to contact General Flood?"

"Of course not."

There was a knock on the door and this time a woman entered carrying a garment bag. "Excuse me, Mr. President." The young woman immediately turned her attention to the president's chief of staff who was in the corner talking on her cell phone. "Val, I've got your stuff."

Jones covered the phone. "Put it in my office."

Stealey made a mental note to pack that "go bag" the first chance she got. Never again would she be caught so utterly unprepared.

"Mr. President," said Stokes, "I'd like to introduce you to my deputy assistant attorney general in charge of counterterrorism, Peggy Stealey."