"Yes, we've treated many of our own presidents there," added Piper, getting back to the conversation.

Aziz continued to look out the window at the large rotunda of the Capitol. Then turning slowly, he said, "I assume you had no difficulty in arranging our meeting?"

"No difficulty whatsoever," Piper said proudly.

"The president and I are very close."

"Good." While holding his cigarette with one hand, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a long blue check.

"As per your instructions, I had this written to your party through one of my American corporations."

Piper grabbed the check with both hands and looked at the all-important box on the right side. The chairman of the Democratic National Committee smiled at the large number.

"This is greatly appreciated' Your Highness."

Aziz nodded benevolently.

"I can promise you that I will do everything within my power to help your country obtain the proper defensive weapons that you seek."

"Kingdom," corrected Aziz.

"Yes, kingdom." Piper nervously rubbed his hands together.

"My apologies." Looking at his watch, he said, "Well, we should probably get going. I have a limousine waiting downstairs to take us to the White House. We don't want to be late to see the president."

"No, we don't." Aziz grinned.

"I've been looking forward to this day for a long time."

The White House

PRESIDENT HAYES SAT behind his desk in the Oval Office. His suit coat was draped over the back of his high backed leather chair, and in front of him was a photocopy of his daily schedule. The schedule was typed, but his nine a.m. meeting had been crossed out and his chief of staff had written something in the margin. The president squinted at the handwriting and tried to make out the small cursive letters. Hayes picked up the paper and decided it wasn't his eyes that needed help; it was his chief of staff's handwriting.

Without knocking, Valerie Jones entered the Oval Office through the main hallway. She had a stack of folders under her left arm and a leather day-timer in her right hand.

"Good morning, Robert." Jones continued across the room and set the folders on the left side of the president's desk.

Hayes held up the schedule for her to see.

"What's this you wrote here in the margin?"

Without having to look, Jones said, "Last-minute change.

Prince Kalib from Oman is on his way through town to see his father at the Mayo Clinic."

Hayes tapped his capped Waterman pen against his cheek while frowning.

"And?"

"And…" Jones put her hands on her hips and smiled.

"You don't want to know. Just take my word for it. It'll be a worthwhile meeting."

President Hayes nodded slowly. Leaning back in his chair, he studied Jones's outfit for a split second. She was wearing a yellow silk blouse that was almost dark enough to pass for gold.

Hayes thought the bright blouse combined with the black skirt and scarf made her look like a bumblebee. Having a wife and two grown daughters of his own, he was smart enough to keep this opinion to himself.

"What else do you have for me?"

"The First Lady left Andrews about fifteen minutes ago and will be on the ground in Columbus just before ten. Which reminds me…" Jones stepped to her left and placed both hands on the surface of the desk. "I still think you should go to Columbus. You can fly out tomorrow afternoon and make the party with no trouble at all." The president's fifth grandchild and his namesake, Robert Xavier Hayes, was celebrating his first birthday tomorrow.

Hayes shook his head.

"I'm going to see little Robert in two weeks, and I'll celebrate his birthday then."

"I think you should go tomorrow," persisted the chief of staff.

"I'm not going. It costs a lot of money to fly everybody over there just for the evening."

"Fine." At the insistence of the First Lady, Jones had given it one more try. The chief of staff grabbed one of the folders she had brought and opened it.

"I need your signature on about thirty documents. Some of them you'll want to glance over, and others you can just sign."

With a sigh Hayes began working his way through the stack of papers.

Washington, D.C.

THE WHITE KNIGHT linen truck pulled up to the cobblestone entrance of the underground parking garage at the Treasury Building. A uniformed Secret Service agent stepped out from his guard booth and smiled at the driver saying, "How are ya. Vinney?"

Good' Tony The driver stepped down from the cab. "You staying awake this morning?"

"Just barely." The officer handed him a clipboard and asked, "Did you watch the game last night?"

"Of course. I hate those stinking Yankees I think I hate the Yankees more than the Red Sox." Abu Hasan took the clipboard and signed his fake name 'Vinney. Vitelli. Hasan had been working for the White Knight Linen Service for almost eight months. White Knight was in the middle of its four-year contract with the Treasury Department. Getting a job with the company had been easy, and passing the FBI background check had proved even easier. The only hard part was getting rid of the previous driver.

The old driver had come down with an incapacitating case of food poisoning the day after he had dined with Hasan about five months ago.

Hasan had conveniently stepped in and covered the man's route until he was better. Two weeks after that, when the man was killed in an attempted robbery near his apartment, Hasan was right there to step in and take over the dead man's route.

Hasan handed the clipboard back to the Secret Service officer.

"I have two extra tickets to the Indians-Orioles game on Saturday if you want them."

The officer grabbed the clipboard.

"That would be great.

My kid would love it."

Hasan smiled.

"Good." He had worked hard to get to know as many of the uniformed officers as he could. It was crucial to the mission. If they couldn't get the truck into the garage without being inspected, the entire plan would fail.

"Are you working tomorrow afternoon?" asked Hasan as he turned to go back to the truck.

"Yep."

"Good, I'll bring them by."

"Thanks Vinney. I appreciate it. "The guard tugged on the brim of his cap.

Hasan climbed back up into the cab and released the emergency brake. As the heavy steel gates opened, the terrorist looked to his left at the fence that separated the White House from the Treasury Department. He grinned and bit down hard on his tongue, fighting back the urge to smile as he looked beyond the gate at the most famous house in the world.

Hasan put the truck in gear, drove through the gate and down the ramp.

Washington, D.C.

THE TAXICAB CONTINUED south down Pennsylvania Avenue and crossed the intersection at Seventeenth Street. The driver pulled in between two large, circular concrete planters, turned to the left, and stopped. Only a block away from the White House, the road ahead was closed to all motor traffic.

Anna Rielly sat in the backseat and looked out at the barricades the Secret Service had constructed in the wake of the Oklahoma City bombing. A row of concrete planters extended from each curb and stopped, leaving just enough room for a guard booth and a huge steel barricade with the word "STOP" emblazoned in white against a red background. The steel barricade was hydraulic and could be lowered to allow authorized vehicles to proceed to the next checkpoint.

Rielly paid the driver and got out of the backseat. She had a large black bag over one shoulder and a smaller purse over the other. While she adjusted the large bag, she looked up at the gothic-looking Executive Office Building and frowned.

Rielly tried to decide if she liked the building or not. She studied the ominous structure and brushed her shoulder-length dark brown hair back behind both ears. It was beautiful in its craftsmanship but seemed out of place among the rest of Washington architecture.