Scarface pummeled him again, several times, all delivered to the same soft sore spot in his stomach. Seamus thought he felt something rupture. The pain was excruciating. Sweat trickled down the sides of his face.

“It does not matter. You will not succeed before the colonel’s deadline has expired. And if I sense we will soon lose control, I will fire all the missiles at once!”

That would be bad. And Scarface looked just crazy and pissed off enough to do it. Seamus knew Colonel Zuko was an extremist, but he didn’t think he was totally starkers. He wondered if the dictator knew his first officer was so far gone.

“Who came with you?”

“No one. I came alone.”

“Do not lie to me!”

“Look around you, pal. Do you see anyone? I’m alone.” He hoped the creep bought it. Arlo might’ve had the sense to drive off by now, but then again, maybe not. He didn’t want the kid dragged into this.

Of course, he didn’t want to make Scarface mad, either. Truth to tell, his ribs weren’t going to hold up to much more of this.

“Who else knows you’re here?”

“No one.”

“You must’ve called your superior.”

“No time. Your top cops grabbed me just as soon as I spotted the control room, or whatever you call that.”

Scarface paused a moment. Seamus could see he was considering, weighing the words, wondering if his captive could be trusted.

“How long would it take your colleagues to arrive?”

“They’d already be here,” he lied.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why would I lie about that?”

“How much do you know about what we are doing? How much does anyone know?”

“No one knows anything. I don’t know anything. And I’ve seen the operation in action. But I’m still clueless.”

“You lie!” He pounded Seamus in the stomach again and again. Seamus suspected he was bleeding internally. He was used to blocking out pain, but all the mental discipline in the world couldn’t stop a hemorrhage.

Scarface brought his hand against the back of Seamus’s face. “Talk to me!” Blood and spittle flew from Seamus’s mouth. “Tell me what you know!”

“Do I look like a computer genius?”

“You are an American spy!” he shouted, battering Seamus’s face again.

“I am just like you!” Seamus shouted back. “I take orders!” Not entirely true, but he thought it was the best way to appeal to this guy. The solidarity of soldiers and all that. “I do what I’m told!”

That seemed to give Scarface pause, at least for a moment. Not long enough. “Then your masters have ordered you to your death.” He turned and reached for his tool belt. He returned with a pair of shiny steel pliers. “I do not have much time for this. I expect the colonel to call soon. So the question is whether you will die quickly and painlessly or whether I will have a chance to use my tools.”

“You’re not listening to me. I don’t know anything.”

Scarface slugged him again, this time with the pliers. That stung. Seamus could feel blood trickling out of his mouth. He felt around with his tongue. Damn-one of his molars felt loose. Not that he hadn’t lost teeth before. But he didn’t like it. There were only so many to go around.

Scarface pulled open Seamus’s shirt, popping the buttons. The shirt hung in tatters, dangling from Seamus’s shoulders. Scarface jabbed the pliers into his left pectoral. Then he twisted.

Seamus screamed. There was no shame in screaming, he told himself. When you feel pain, let it out. Holding it in only made it worse.

And this was bad enough already. Seamus could feel his flesh tearing, feel the muscle separating from the skin. Blood gushed down his chest.

“Still not convinced? Let us try the other side.”

Scarface twisted the pliers around the right pec. Seamus screamed, a longer and louder cry. Blood and sweat poured down the sides of his body.

“And if that’s not enough, we’ll work on some of your other extremities. We will take you apart bit by bit. We will take away all that makes you a man.” He paused, grinning with malice. “Before I am finished, there may be nothing left of you to kill.”

“I think we can assume,” Admiral Cartwright continued, “that the vice president wishes to initiate an action to remove the president.”

“You can,” Swinburne concurred.

“So I will poll each of the cabinet members, in order, and I will ask if you vote to retain or remove. Does everyone understand?”

There was general assent, indicated by nods.

“Good. Let’s begin. Mr. Secretary of-”

“Excuse me!” It was Agent Zimmer, standing by the communications station, one earphone pressed against his right ear. “I have Colonel Zuko.”

The president rose. “Put him on speaker.”

Swinburne stood. “No, wait just a-”

“I’m still the president. At least for the next few minutes. And so long as I am president, I will do my job. So get out of my way.”

Swinburne frowned but got out of the way.

“Colonel Zuko. Are you there?”

The deep, guttural voice Ben had come to dislike so strongly returned to the airwaves. “I am.”

“What do you want?”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed, as I have, that there are only five minutes remaining on the clock.”

“Is that right? I must’ve lost track.”

“This is not a time for levity, Mr. President. Let me assure you that I mean what I say. The missiles have been targeted. They will deliver their payload to heavily populated residential areas.”

“Where? Anacostia? Georgetown? Morgan? Cleveland Park?”

“Why do you ask? So you can begin an evacuation, as you did on the National Mall? I’m afraid I cannot answer your question.”

“Because you want people to die.”

“Because I can see from your failure to act earlier today that the taking of lives is necessary to make you understand that you have no choice in this matter. You must withdraw your troops.”

Silence. The president chose not to answer.

“Have you changed your mind?” Zuko demanded.

“I have not,” the president said, looking at Swinburne out the corner of his eye. “But… it’s possible that things could change.”

“I hope for your sake that they do. Because if I cannot see in the next few minutes that you are withdrawing the troops from my sovereign territory, thousands of your civilians will die. And you will be known forevermore not as the man who brought peace to his nation but as the warmonger who allowed thousands of his own people to be butchered.”

“Colonel Zuko-”

Too late. The line was dead.

“And on that happy note,” Cartwright said, “it’s time for us to vote.”

Ben pulled out his ballpoint pen, ready to tick off the votes. Please, God, he thought, please…

What did he really want? What did he think was truly best?

Please, God, do what’s best for this nation and the people in it. He would leave it at that.

“Mr. Secretary of State?”

Ruiz answered, “Remove.”

Ben cursed silently. Why did he have to be first? He hoped Ruiz hadn’t started a trend that would be impossible to buck.

“Mr. Secretary of Defense.”

Rybicki replied, “Retain.”

Thank God. So the score was even, at least here in the bunker.

The president leaned toward Ben’s ear and whispered, “However this turns out, Ben, I want to thank you. You’ve done a great service for me, and I appreciate it.”

“I wish I had-”

The president squeezed his arm, stopping him. “You’ve done the best job anyone could possibly do with a virtually impossible case. And I will never forget it.”

Cartwright continued. “Mr. Secretary of the Treasury.”

“Retain.”

Ben’s eyes widened. They were ahead. Was it possible…?

“Ms. Attorney General.”

“Retain.”

Ben closed his eyes. Yes! Keep them coming…

“Mr. Secretary of the Interior.”

“Remove.”