“Next time he might.”

“Next time you might. Who knows? None of us can predict the future.”

“I can assure you I won’t be streaking. At least not until I lose thirty pounds.” Nice attempt, but things had become too dark for anyone to appreciate humor. “The president has become utterly unpredictable. Talking about streaking and flying and… killing himself in disturbing ways. Sneaking off on secret assignations. And keeping secrets from the American public, secrets about his own family.”

“I suspect President Kyler is not the first president who wanted to keep his family secret.”

“Yes, but the others didn’t. They faced up to the truth and took whatever hits came from honesty. President Kyler chose to hide.”

“I don’t know why he decided to keep his son in the closet. And I don’t think you do, either.”

“I think it’s obvious. He had an illegitimate child whom he abandoned. Why else would he not acknowledge what had happened?”

“As I said, I don’t know.”

“Has he had any other contact with Mr. Malik?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“How did he learn that Malik was planning to join the Red Cross?”

“I don’t know. But I suspect the message was transmitted by his daughter. As I said, she knows about Malik, and I believe they stay in contact.”

“I would think most fathers would be proud to have their sons join the Red Cross.”

“The president said he would support his participation in missions to any other part of the world. Just not the Middle East. President Kyler knew that the region was unstable, and about to get worse. Which proved correct.”

“Wouldn’t that be the time to acknowledge his son to the world? When he’s about to make such a noble gesture?”

“I think it would be more complicated than that.”

“How do you mean?”

“I believe this particular announcement would do critical damage to the president’s support ratings-particularly in the South. And that consequently would erode his ability to lead.”

“The South?” Swinburne took another moment. “Are you saying this son of his is of mixed race?”

“Exactly.”

Swinburne took a step backward. The light was dawning. “So there would be immediate political consequences. Because the man is half African American.”

Zimmer’s head tilted to one side. “Uh… no.”

“He’s not part black?”

“No.”

“But you said-”

“I’m sorry. I thought it was obvious. He’s not of African descent.” Zimmer paused just long enough to whet everyone’s interest. “He’s Middle Eastern.”

Swinburne’s jaw dropped so low it almost thudded against the floor. “Middle Eastern? His son is from the Middle East?”

“Well, his son’s mother was.” Zimmer frowned, glanced at the president, then added: “To be specific-she’s Kuraqi.”

Seamus sped down the highway toward a remote location in rural Maryland. They were still near enough to D.C. that the traffic from fleeing Washingtonians complicated travel, as did Zira’s erratic come-and-go information.

They had managed to triangulate on the cell phone’s signal to determine its location. The signal was emitted, however, only when the phone was turned on, and the user was apparently turning it on only when he wanted to use it. He was probably savvy enough to know that those times were when the phone was vulnerable, so he limited it as much as possible. He probably did not count on the efficacy of the CIA’s latest Sidewinder triangulation program, which could track a cell phone down in less than a tenth of the time it had taken the previous iteration.

Seamus pulled up beside what appeared to be an abandoned industrial plant of some sort. Seamus knew that this was one of many. The downturn in the economy had hit this part of the country particularly hard. The unkempt, weed-ridden lawn was enough to tell him that this place was no longer in use-at least not in any official capacity. Not doing any business the IRS would be notified about. At the far corner he spotted a broken sign: Barlow Bros. Manufacturing. He gave no clue what the plant had made.

“You stay here,” he told Arlo as he unbuckled himself.

“Okay,” Arlo replied.

Seamus gave him a narrow-eyed look. “I mean it. You stay right here. I’ll give you the car keys. If you see any trouble, leave. In fact, if you see anyone at all, leave. Here’s a number you can call if you need help. Do not leave this car under any circumstances.”

Arlo took the number. “Okay.”

“I’m not sure I believe you’re taking this seriously. I am serious. This could be very dangerous. I want you to stay out of it. Do not leave this car.”

“I said okay.”

“Yes, but your eyes are saying, ‘I helped him once. Maybe I can help him again.’”

“I don’t know where you’re getting that.”

“I’m getting it from twenty years of field experience.”

“Look, I have no desire to get hurt. I’m not going anywhere. You’re on your own.”

Seamus’s eyes narrowed still further. “And you mean that? You won’t leave the car?”

“Absolutely. You want me to pinky-swear?”

“That won’t be necessary. Just don’t leave the car.” Seamus pushed himself out. His ribs still ached where he had taken the boot several times. But he blocked that out of his mind. He had to focus on the task at hand: figuring out what, if anything, was going on in there, and then figuring out how to stop it.

The building was so expansive he assumed that the base wouldn’t use all of it. Even if they had the most elaborate James Bond-esque headquarters imaginable, it wouldn’t take up half of this facility, and Arlo had told him that the satellite control operation he envisioned wouldn’t require that much space at all. What he had to do was figure out where they were and then go in somewhere else.

He hung close to the building-so he couldn’t be seen from the inside-and called Zira.

“I’m there. Have you got the heat readings?”

“Yes. I’m sending it to your cell.”

Barely three seconds later, he had it. Another trick in the CIA magic show-one not many people knew about-was that the United States had satellites capable of zeroing in on any building in the country and using infrared imagery to get heat impressions of what was going on inside. Was this constitutional? Well, who knew? With the current conservative Supreme Court, almost anything the government wanted to do was potentially constitutional. For the time being, what mattered was that it told him where the heat was-where the people were. And at the moment they were primarily concentrated at the north end.

So he moved to the south.

“I don’t get that much definition on my cell screen,” Seamus said. “Can you tell how many there are?”

“Not to any degree of certainty. Looks like about ten people.”

Which meant they outnumbered him by nine. At least.

“Do you want me to send in reinforcements?” Zira asked.

“Let’s make sure this is the place first. But have them standing by.”

“It’s not as if I have a ready army, Seamus,” Zira said. “We’re dealing with several national crises here. I’ll have to pull people away from their current assignments.”

“Understood. If I need reinforcements, I’ll let you know.”

He closed the phone and approached the south wall.

He had two means of entry: a door and a window. The door would be suicide. Even if they were trying to keep their numbers small, he had to assume someone would be watching all the doors. The window might be unguarded, but entering by that means inevitably would be noisy and, well, he never liked to risk his neck on a “might.”

So he decided to try the roof.

He found a planter on the back end of the building that brought him four feet off the ground. Standing on that, with a concerted leap he was able to pull himself up onto the roof, though his ribs ached from the strain.