"Good morning. Pat."

"Good morning, sir."

President Hayes walked into the Oval Office first and Morton second. The president continued straight ahead, passing his desk and then going through the short hallway that led to his private study, bathroom, and dining room. Morton turned to the right and opened the door that led to the secretary's office. She closed it behind her and said into her mike,

"Horsepower, from Morton. Woody is in the Oval."

On the other side of the Oval Office, in the main hallway, two Secret Service agents from the presidential detail relieved two uniformed officers and took up posts outside the door to the president's dining room and the main door to the Oval Office.

Inside the president's private dining room, Hayes took off his suit coat and handed it to a small Filipino man dressed in a white waistcoat and black pants.

"Good morning, Carl."

"Good morning, Mr. President," answered the Navy steward.

Carl closed the door and took the president's jacket, hanging it on an antique wooden valet in the corner.

A circular oak table for four occupied the center of the room. Hayes sat at the seat closest to the Oval Office and pulled in his chair. Folded and laid out in front of him were copies of The Washington Post, The Washington Times, The New York Times, and USA Today. The same four papers were laid out in the same order every day, Monday through Friday.

The president began perusing the headlines.

The steward approached and placed a cup of black coffee next to the copy of the Times. "What would you like for breakfast this morning, Mr.

President?" Without looking up. President Hayes reached out for the cup of coffee.

"How about a half a grapefruit to start with, please."

The steward nodded and retreated into the pantry while the president began reading an article in the Post. Before the grapefruit was served, there was a knock on the door. The Navy steward opened it and greeted the two visitors. Bill Schwartz, the president's national security adviser, entered the room with Dr. Irene Kennedy from the CIA.

The lanky national security adviser greeted the president's steward.

"Good morning, Carl."

"Good morning, Mr. Schwartz. What would you like to drink?"

"My usual please."

"And for the lady?"

"Just a cup of regular, please," replied Kennedy.

Schwartz maneuvered his thin frame across the room and sat in the spot directly across from Hayes. Kennedy placed her briefcase on the floor and sat immediately to the presidents right. The president looked up at his national security adviser and asked, "How was your trip?" Schwartz had just returned from Brussels, where he had attended three days of meetings on the further expansion of NATO.

Schwartz removed his small silver-rimmed glasses and began to clean the lenses with his tie.

"It was slow, boring, and painful."

"It always is with NATO." President Hayes took a sip of coffee and placed the mug back on the table.

"The only organization that's worse is the UN."

"That is true." Schwartz nodded his head slowly and watched Carl place a mug of coffee in front of Kennedy and then himself. Next, the steward gave the president his halved grapefruit and put the other half in front of Schwartz, saying, "Eat this.

I'm going to get you some pancakes too, and see if we can put some meat on your bones." The steward then winked at the president. Carl had worked in the White House for more than twenty years and was an expert at ribbing even the most powerful of Washington insiders.

With his hands clasped in front of his waist, Carl bent forward and, in a much more friendly tone than the one he had used with the national security adviser, asked, "May I get you anything to eat, miss?"

"No, thank you. I'm fine." Kennedy wrapped her hands around the warm coffee mug.

The steward turned to President Hayes. "If you need anything more, please ring."

"I will. Thank you, Carl. "The president watched the steward leave and then leaned back. Looking to Kennedy, he said, "I got your message last night. I'm glad to hear everything went well."

"Yes. So far so good." Kennedy brought her coffee up to her lips and took a small sip.

"Bill, how much do you know about last night's activities?" asked the president.

Schwartz dumped a teaspoon of sugar onto his moist grapefruit and said,

"Irene filled me in on the basics when I got in last night."

"What time was that?"

"Just after midnight" The president looked to Kennedy.

"Have we discovered anything yet?"

"Our man and Harut left Saudi Arabia around two this morning. They are supposed to touch down at Ramstein Air Force Base in Germany"—Kennedy looked at her watch and did the calculation—"in about thirty minutes.

There they will be met by a team of specialists who will board the plane and start to interrogate Harut while airborne for Andrews."

The president thought about asking her what she meant by the term "specialists," but decided he was better off not knowing.

"When can we expect some answers?"

"It's hard to tell. Sometimes the information is extracted easily, but the drugs don't always work the same way on everyone. There are certain precautions we need to take to make sure he isn't lying." Kennedy paused. Stansfield had told her from day one to always be on the cautious side. Especially when dealing with politicians. She looked to NSA Schwartz and then back at President Hayes. "We need to be thorough."

Hayes stacked the newspapers, one on top of another, off to the side.

"Are we talking hours or days?"

"We will start getting information out of him within minutes.

Depending on what he knows and what kind of health he's in, we should have some answers within an hour. But let me caution you that it will take weeks to fully interrogate and debrief him."

"But our priority here is to find out if, when, and where they are planning this attack in Washington."

"Yes." Kennedy nodded.

Hayes looked to Schwartz, whose job it was to coordinate the efforts of all the intelligence agencies.

"I want this to receive top priority, and I want a full briefing on the interrogation."

Kennedy nodded.

"Yes, Mr. President."

Washington, D.C.

TWO MILES EAST of the White House a green-and-white truck backed up to the entrance of a dilapidated warehouse and stopped. Plastered in large white letters across the green side of the cargo area were the words "White Knight Linen Service." Two men in blue coveralls came out of the warehouse and hefted the rusting garage door up, its casters screeching as metal scraped on metal. The driver put the truck in reverse, and the two men guided the boxy vehicle through the narrow door with hand signals. When all of the truck was inside, the door was closed.

A hazy light filtered through the dirty windows near the roof of the building. Four men approached the rear of the truck, and a ramp was secured to the fender. The men began to unload the truck's canvas laundry baskets and boxes of fresh linen. After about five minutes the vehicle's cargo area was empty.

From an elevated glass office a man in green fatigues appeared. His closely trimmed beard grew from the top of his cheekbones down into his collar, and his hands and forearms were covered with thick black hair.

In contrast to the rest of his body, the top of his head was bald—a shiny bronze oasis of smooth skin bordered by a horseshoe of black hair.

Although short in stature, Muammar Bengazi was obviously strong.

Gripping the metal railing with his thick fingers, Bengazi watched his men work. They had come too far to make any mistakes now. Everything had to be done perfectly from this point forward. They had been given a summary from their benefactor that detailed the exact layout of the building.