Tyler knew from the meetings he had observed that the President didn’t mind candid exchanges and even arguments, but Blitz seemed almost belligerent. The national security advisor began arguing about the need for alacrity-he used the word several times-because of the deteriorating situation. To Tyler, it seemed as if he was criticizing the plan.

“We can have people on the ground there within twenty-four hours,” Tyler said finally when Thos didn’t speak up in its defense. “I guarantee it.”

The secretary of defense and the head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff glared at him. Tyler felt his jaw set; what the hell did they expect? Of course the job could be done. Otherwise they wouldn’t have brought it here.

“Are you volunteering to take command of the mission, Ken?” asked the President.

Was he?

“Sir, I would in a heartbeat. Absolutely. I want to lead it.”

The President smiled. Tyler sensed that he was coming off like some sort of cowboy gunslinger, which to him was the exact opposite of what he felt: He was here as a professional with a carefully considered, albeit risky, lineup of plans. He wouldn’t have proposed them if he didn’t believe in them.

Were the others testing him? Thos started to say something-either to change the subject or perhaps point out that the unit officers would be expected to command and would be more than qualified to do so-but the President raised his hand.

“I think Major Tyler would be an excellent choice. I have full confidence in him. And in Colonel Howe. I want a plan that has a chance to remain covert but can move ahead quicker than the CIA plan. That’s Tacit Ivan. Get it under way immediately.”

“You figure terrorists are big on irony?” asked Fisher.

“How so?”

“Battery Park. Energy. E-bomb. Get it?”

Macklin’s blank stare went well with his haircut, which looked as if it had started as a fade and veered toward Mohawk. Fisher walked past the museum building out toward the edge of the water. On a clear day you could see the Statue of Liberty from there-but this wasn’t a clear day. A low bank of clouds loomed beyond the thin mist, and the sky above furled with an impending snowstorm.

Though the more optimistic weathermen were calling for sleet.

“You think he called from the middle of Battery Park?” asked Macklin.

“We sure it’s a ‘he’?” asked Fisher. The cell tower that had picked up the call was located on the top of a nearby building, but the fog was so thick Fisher couldn’t see it.

“Good point.”

“No other call, huh?”

“None,” said Macklin.

“Why do you figure that is?”

“Reprogrammed it or used a different cell phone.”

“Could be.” Fisher turned around and looked out at the water. “Maybe he threw it in the water.”

“You want to drag the harbor?”

“Even I’m not that crazy,” said Fisher.

“They use the phones once or twice, they reprogram the chips,” said Macklin. “I was at a seminar a few weeks back explaining how it’s done. So you think he was in the park?” added the Homeland Security agent.

“Maybe,” said Fisher. “Or on the water.”

“What, swimming?”

“Could have been in a boat.”

“Well, sure,” said Macklin.

A ferry loomed in the distance. There were ferry slips at the very southern tip of the island; you could get to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island as well as Staten Island.

“Should we look for a boat?” asked Macklin.

“Probably not.”

“Did they case out the Statue of Liberty, maybe?”

“Could be.”

“ ‘Could be’?” said Macklin.

“Could be a lot of things, Michael. That’s the problem.”

“Well, what the hell are we looking for?” asked Macklin.

“Damned if I know,” said Fisher. “But a good cup of coffee would sure hit the spot.”

“We have to figure this out, Andy. We have to. America ’s counting on us.”

The wind was too strong for Fisher to risk rolling his eyes. Instead he asked, “Where are those apartments?”

“One’s in Washington Heights, the other’s in Queens. They’re under surveillance.”

“Okay,” said Fisher, starting to his left.

“Where are we going?”

“To get some coffee.”

“Andy-”

“Then we’re going to take a subway ride.”

“You can’t command the force,” Colonel Thos told Tyler as they walked downstairs.

“The President told me to do it,” replied Tyler.

“He didn’t tell you to go on the mission.”

As originally drawn up, the ground commander would be an A Team captain working with men already in Korea and the Asia theater. Tyler interpreted the President’s order to mean that he should go along personally and the captain would answer to him. Thos pointed out that the President hadn’t specifically said that. Not only would it be contrary to normal procedure, from a logistical point of view, getting from Washington to Korea in time to be on the raid would be extremely difficult.

Tyler wasn’t going to argue with Thos. As far as he was concerned, the President’s order meant that he was to be there himself personally. Period.

Period.

Tyler replayed the meeting in his mind. Some of the others were looking at him with contempt, but the President hadn’t. The President-his eyes had said something to him.

I need someone I can trust. Can I trust you?

There was no way Tyler was backing out. And screw anybody who suggested he do so.

If he were white, no one would say anything, Tyler thought.

That wasn’t fair, not really, and certainly not in Thos’s case. The colonel was from a mixed background himself: Malaysian as well as European. His argument was based on command structure and the normal rules and procedures the Army followed.

But it did make sense for Tyler to take command of the mission. He sure as hell had the experience and expertise: He’d only recently been an A Team captain and had been in Korea; he undoubtedly knew many of the men who would be on the mission. He had planned it and so knew the details intimately. He knew Howe as well. The only problem was getting over to Korea.

“Look, Tyler, you’ll never make it in time,” said Thos as they reached their car.

“I will,” said Tyler. “And I think we can shave twenty-four hours off the timetable. You have to let me go, Vic. You owe it to me.”

“I owe it to you? Bullshit on that.” Thos frowned. “That’s not the way it works.”

“Well, it should be,” said Tyler. “And I’m going whether you like it or not. The President told me to.”

Howe had been around enough military planners to realize that the Berkut plan was being developed as the weak sister to make the other options look better. Still, he agreed to hang around Washington, D.C., just in case the President green-lighted the operation. And so he found himself back at the hotel with nothing to do except sit in his hotel room and watch the last of the first-round games of the NCAAs. It was Auburn against St. John’s, and for some reason he found himself rooting for Auburn, which of course was a mistake. While St. John’s was no powerhouse, it had Auburn put away by halftime, and a few minutes into the second half Howe decided he’d go out for a walk.

It was warm for March, and Howe found he didn’t need to zip his jacket.

He’d volunteered for the mission without question. More than that, he wanted to do it.

Maybe leaving the Air Force had been the wrong thing to do. But if he were still in the Air Force, he’d be queuing up for a general’s slot down at the Pentagon, kissing as many butts as he could find.

An exaggeration. And surely he’d have a choice of commands. His star was rising. Had been rising.

Not that Howe didn’t have detractors. He’d been having an affair with a woman who was known to be a traitor, and there were undoubtedly rumors about that.