"Shit." King paced back and forth. "So what are you telling me? Can she speak to the press or not?"

"No." The female paramedic, who was still on one knee, frowned.

"She needs to get to a hospital." Tutwiler was sitting frozen on a brown leather couch, her eyes staring blankly into space.

King placed his hands over his mouth and swore three times in rapid succession. Next, he grabbed at his hair and said, "I fucking knew it."

Turning back toward the paramedic, he said, "Take her to Bethesda, and I don't want anyone talking to her." King yanked the door open and began marching down the hallway, his arms swinging wildly. When he reached the other side of the building, he ignored the gaggle of Secret Service agents standing outside the conference room and entered without knocking.

King slammed the door behind him and screamed an expletive.

Vice President Baxter, startled by the unexpected intrusion, spun around in his chair with a look of thorough irritation on his face.

"Dallas, I said I wanted to be alone."

"The stupid bitch is in shock."

"What?" asked a confused Baxter.

"Tutwiler… the bitch is in shock… she cracked." An angry expression contorted King's face.

"She can't talk… She's on her way to the hospital."

Baxter closed his eyes and moaned, "oh great."

King began pacing up and down next to the conference table, while Baxter buried his face in his cupped hands.

"It's nothing we can't handle," insisted King, trying to find an angle, a way to spin the story. "It'sjust a temporary setback."

King walked the length of the room twice and then said, "I'll leak it through the right sources that the whole thing was Marge's idea, and when it blew up in her face, she cracked… and then we'll have Director Roach handle the press briefing.

We'll be fine."

With his face still in his hands, Baxter added, "For now."

Then lifting his head up, he said, "This thing is only going to get worse. We are going to have to storm that place eventually, and from what everyone is telling me, we are going to lose a lot of hostages.

It's just like I told you yesterday, Dallas; we are screwed." Baxter growled the last word.

"Any way you slice it, I'm going to have the blood of a lot of people on my hands, and my name will forever be associated with this damn mess."

King shook his head.

"Nothing's over. If there's a way out of this, I'll find it." Rubbing his hands together as if he were trying to warm them up, he said, "For now, we continue to walk this thin line. Marge is out of commission, so we'll move Director Roach and the FBI to the forefront. If this sick bastard releases one-third of the hostages, we should probably have a photo op with you consoling them. It won't hurt for you to take credit for that, but once it's over and he starts making his next demands, you should keep a low profile.

This isn't over yet, Sherman. Stay with me." SLEEP HAD BEEN out of the question. After Warch had discovered someone was trying to breach the bunker door, everyone was up for the night. Tensions were running high as the grinding noise grew a little louder with each passing hour.

Another foreboding sign was that the door was no longer cool to the touch. Areas of heat could be felt as one placed one's hand in different spots.

In an effort to lower the tension and keep his people focused. Jack Warch had drawn up a duty schedule with Special Agent Ellen Morton, the day shift's whip. The first order of business was to collect all of the radios and phones. With nine Secret Service agents in the bunker, that amounted to nine encrypted Motorola radios and nine digital phones. One of each would be kept on and monitored around the clock. Since the batteries on the phones were interchangeable, Warch's phone was to be used and the batteries from the other phones were to be rotated through.

While one agent monitored the communications, another agent was to stand post by the bunker door and report any strange noises or occurrences.

Two more agents were assigned to remain at all times between the president and the bunker door. While these four agents were manning their posts, the other four were to sleep or eat. The two teams, as they were now referred to, were on four-hour rotations. Warch was the only one not included in the rotation. After checking on the battery supply. Warch walked over to the thick vault door and placed his hand flat on the surface. He ran his other hand through his thinning hair and tried to remember the details that had been passed on to him about the construction of the bunker. If he remembered correctly, it could withstand any conventional bomb and most nuclear bombs as long as it wasn't a direct hit. If the White House was ground zero, they were toast like everyone else. As for how it would hold up against a bunch of bloodthirsty terrorists using drills and God only knew what else'warch had no idea.

The commanding agent turned away from the door and glanced over at the president, who was sitting on one of the couches with his chief of staff. The president looked at warch and gestured for him to join them.

President Hayes was one of those men who shaved twice a day. Having already missed two shaves, his face was covered with a solid growth of gray and brown whiskers. His tie and suit jacket were lying on the bunk he had slept in. Looking over at Special Agent Warch, the president said, "Jack, please take your tie off, and tell the men to do the same."

After the raid Warch had torn his tie off in frustration. His feelings toward his president were at an all-time low. Hayes and his chief of staff had circumvented Secret Service security procedure, and people were dead because of it. Now, over twenty four hours later, he had put his personal feelings aside and put his tie back on. He had a job to do, and part of that job was to show respect to the presidency, regardless of the individual.

Warch nodded his thanks to the president and began to tug at the silk knot around his neck.

"Anything new to report?"

"I'm afraid not, sir." Warch kept his expression neutral.

"Are you sure," started Valerie Jones, "that those aren't our people trying to drill through the door?" Warch paused and checked his desire to snap at the president's chief of staff. He had already been over this with them twice.

"It's not our people."

"Are you sure?"Joness tone was more pleading than asking.

Warch exhaled a tired sigh and said, "I don't like it any more than you do, but it would make no sense for our own people to drill through the door. They have the code. All they have to do is punch it in like we did, and the door opens."

Jones moved forward on the couch, tugging the hem of her black skirt as she did so. "What if the terrorists damaged the door control?"

Warch called on his patience. They had already been down this road before. He decided he would go over it with her one last time.

"Outside this door"—Warch pointed over his shoulder—"is a second room.

That room has two reinforced steel doors. One leads into the tunnel, and the second one leads into the third basement of the White House. Again, my people have the codes to get through either of those doors. So there would be no reason for them to be drilling now."

"No." Jones shook her head.

"You're not listening. I said what if the terrorists blew apart one of the other doors and that damaged the control panel for this door?" She pointed at the door with her bright red fingernail.

"Ms. Jones, you are the one who is not listening." Warch kept his voice low but firm.

"If our people were the ones drilling out there, they would have called us and told us so."

Warch drew her attention to the nearby table filled with radios and digital phones.

"They would not be jamming our communications and drilling at the same time." Warch didn't see it as his job to like or dislike people at the White House, but this Valerie Jones was really getting on his nerves.