The woman was the first to speak. “We didn’t want to do it. He made us!”

“Uh-huh. What’d he do? Threaten to withhold your tax-free treason stipend?”

“My mother is sick. We need money to-”

Seamus held up his hands. “Save it for the prosecutors. I just want to make sure this computer crap is totally disabled.”

“It’s history,” the man who used to sit beside her said. “Smashed to smithereens.”

“No more chance of interfering with defense computers?”

“None. I think they were maybe fifteen minutes away from booting us out anyway.”

“So there’s no way this stuff can launch a missile?”

“No, not-” He stopped, froze.

“What?” Seamus said. “What is it?”

The man swallowed. “This equipment is toast. But the satellite is still up there.”

“And the satellite can still launch missiles?”

“Yes, but only if it gets a signal to-” His eyes widened. “They can launch everything at once. There’s a fail-safe.”

“What? Where?”

“It’s on the dish. The satellite-” He thrust his arm out and pointed. “Stop him!”

Seamus whirled around.

Somehow Scarface had crept up behind him. He was making a beeline for the satellite dish.

The red button on the base of the dish.

Seamus instinctively realized he could not let that sadistic madman get to the button, so he dove across the twelve feet that separated him from his torturer. Scarface kept moving.

Seamus fell a little short but managed to grab Scarface’s right leg on the way down. He thudded down to the concrete slab floor with an impact that sent his whole body into spasms. His battered chest and ribs screamed out in protest. But he clung to the man’s leg. Scarface had his arm stretched out as far as it would go. He was only inches short of the button.

Seamus’s fingers slipped. Scarface edged forward a bit. Seamus dug in with his fingers and held him back with all his remaining strength.

“Arlo! Help!”

He heard the kid running up behind him, but in the meantime, Scarface kicked back. His boot caught Seamus hard on the nose.

The intense agony of compressed sinuses and bent cartilage radiated through his face. His eyes watered, but he gripped the leg as tightly as he could.

Scarface managed to gain another inch. He reached out-

He pushed down the red button.

“Oh, no,” Seamus murmured. His head fell to the floor. “Oh, my God, they actually did it. They actually launched the goddamn missiles!”

“This should help a little,” Zimmer said, and a moment later the bunker was filled with a bright illumination. “Glow sticks,” he explained. “Which someone had the foresight to put down here with the first-aid kit.”

Ben was amazed at how much a little light did to alleviate the pervasive gloom. Not that the circumstances hadn’t left him massively depressed. If anyone could confront this tragedy with anything less, they must be missing the empathy gene. But being able to see a few feet around him, however indistinctly, left him feeling somewhat less vulnerable.

“Thank God,” Ruiz said, standing cautiously. “I couldn’t stand one more moment of that. I could’ve sworn something was crawling up my leg.”

“The bunker is hermetically sealed,” Zimmer explained. “It’s actually not even possible for insects to get in here.”

“Tell it to my leg,” Ruiz groused.

“Any word yet?” Swinburne asked impatiently, if not desperately.

Zimmer shook his head. “I promise I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something.”

“You can see how we might be anxious!”

“Yes, but I’m sure you can see that my first priority is restoring power to the bunker.”

“Damn it, man, do you understand that you are talking to the acting president of the United States? I want to know if the missiles have been launched.”

“Whether they have or haven’t,” Zimmer said firmly, “there’s not a thing you or I can do about it-unless I get power back to this communications station. So that takes top priority.”

Swinburne folded his arms across his chest and frowned.

Ben was amazed at how still everyone else in the bunker was, as if somehow the thought of the great tragedy had frozen them all in place. It was enough to immobilize anyone. And yet…

Something caught his eye on the other side of the bunker. The door to the adjoining room was cracked open a little bit. Ben was certain it had not been that way before the blackout.

Had someone slipped over there after the lights went out?

Or for that matter, someone probably could have done it during the tumult of the verdict and Swinburne’s frenzied attempt to call the colonel. Who would’ve noticed? Ben knew his attention had been focused elsewhere.

Ben remembered seeing a circuit breaker box in there during his previous huddle with the president. It was readily visible on the wall. It did not appear to be locked.

Could someone have slipped over there and sabotaged it?

And then Ben recalled another item of note he had observed in the other room. Slowly the pieces of the puzzle began to come together.

Ben scanned the room, making an inventory of all the parties.

He hated relying on his own memory, particularly when he had been so busy and so much was happening at once. But he was almost certain one person down here was not sitting where that person had been sitting before.

That would have to be the person who had taken a trip next door. But why?

It seemed incredible, unbelievable. But all the evidence, everything Ben had seen and heard, all pointed in one direction.

“Agent Zimmer,” Ben said, “there’s a breaker box in the next room.”

“I know, but-” His head jerked up suddenly. “Hasn’t everyone been in here?”

“Better check it out. It may have been… damaged.”

“If that’s what happened, it’ll be a good deal easier to fix than anything else would be.” Zimmer walked briskly into the other room. Ben didn’t have to wait for news for more than ten seconds. “You’re right, Ben.”

“Breakers thrown?”

“Worse. Looks like someone loosened the panel and ripped up the wiring. But I think I can repair the damage. I’ve got a box of wire and tools in here.”

He stopped talking, but Ben knew that was because he was hard at work.

“What are we talking about here?” Swinburne said. Even in the darkness, Ben could see that he was squinting. “Sabotage?”

“That’s what it looks like,” Ben said.

“But-that’s incredible,” Secretary Ruiz said. “Who could’ve done it? No one could’ve gotten down here without being spotted.”

Ben nodded. “The only person who could have possibly done this is one of us.”

Sarie gasped. “Impossible.”

“Apparently not,” Ben replied. “Remember, I told you earlier there had to be a mole down here. Someone who was in cahoots with Colonel Zuko.”

“I don’t believe it,” Cartwright thundered.

“It doesn’t matter who believes it,” Ben said. “It’s a fact.”

“What are you trying to start here, Kincaid?” Swinburne said. “Some kind of witch hunt? You want us to start tearing at everyone’s throats?”

“Not everyone’s,” Ben told him. “Maybe one.”

Secretary Rybicki said, “Are you saying that someone intentionally shut off the power? Someone intentionally tried to prevent Swinburne from calling Zuko? Someone wanted the missile to be launched?”

“It is starting to look that way, isn’t it?” Ben replied grimly.

“But that makes no sense!”

“That, I suppose, depends on what exactly is your ultimate goal.”

“I refuse to believe it,” Ruiz said. “It just isn’t possible there could be a traitor at this level. Everyone in this bunker has been thoroughly vetted and investigated.”

“And yet,” Ben replied, “even the FBI can’t investigate the many dimensions of the human heart.”

“Balderdash!”