Jones started to speak again, but President Hayes reached out and placed his hand on her knee. "I think Jack has made his point, and I agree with him. It's the only thing that makes sense."

"Who says it has to make sense?" Hayes eyeballed her and said, "Valerie."

Jones sat back and folded her arms.

"Sorry, I'm just trying to think of a way out of this mess."

Hayes ignored her and looked to Warch.

"What do we do now?"

Warch was tempted, really tempted to let fly, to explain very forcefully to Ms. Jones that they wouldn't be in this mess if she had followed Secret Service procedure, but now was neither the time nor the place.

That would all be discussed later, if they ever got out of this mess alive.

Warch thought about the president's question for a moment. He looked over at the seemingly impervious bunker door and wondered how long it would take for the terrorists to breach it.

Looking back to the president'warch knew he had to stay positive.

"The FBI's Hostage Rescue Team is the best. I'm sure they're making plans to retake the building as we speak."

RAFIQUE AZIZ GRINNED as he watched the money flow into the Swiss bank account. His people in Iran would start transferring the money into different accounts within the hour. He was winning, but his elation was tempered by the news about his mentor Fara Harut. Aziz wondered what his captors could get out of him—if he was still alive. Harut was a tough old man, but no one was tough enough to withstand torture.

As Aziz tried to assess the potential damage, he wondered if it was wise to deviate from his plan slightly—to demand the return of Harut. As he drummed his fingers on the table, he decided no. The Americans might not have him; it could have been the Israelis or the British. If he went back on his word, it might provoke them into a premature attack, and Aziz was not ready for that. He needed his hands around the president's neck, or his chance for survival would be close to zero.

For now he would stick to his plan. It was time to talk to the FBI. Aziz had been ready to kill another hostage at ten A.M." but the money had started to flow and kept flowing. It was nearing noon and almost all of the money had been transferred.

Aziz picked up the phone and dialed the number that the FBI had given him. After two rings the now familiar deep voice of mcmahon answered.

"You have kept your word," said Aziz, "and I will keep mine. At half past noon, I will release one-third of the hostages.

Keep your people back. I don't want to see any of them on the street, or I'll open fire. Do I make myself clear?"

Yes. Which door will you bring them out of?"

"That is not your concern," snapped Aziz.

"I will release my next set of demands at seven A.M. tomorrow. Until then I do not want to hear from you." The terrorist hung up the phone and looked at his watch. It was exactly 11:53. Aziz decided he would release the hostages immediately instead of waiting until twelve-thirty.

This would keep the FBI off balance. Aziz doubted they would try anything this early, but after his execution of their national security adviser, it was best to be safe.

ANNA RIELLY FELT weak. Her captors had allowed her to go to the bathroom around eleven, and Rielly had been able to grab several handfuls of water from the sink while she was in the bathroom. The water hitting her empty stomach had made her realize just how hungry she really was. The terrorist with the slicked-back hair had again followed her into the stall and watched her. Back in the White House mess, Rielly looked up from her uncomfortable position on the floor and noticed him gloating over her still. She wondered when he would strike, and if he would do it alone or with the others. Her vision started to blur.

Lowering her head, she brought both fists up to her eyes, fighting the tears before they started flowing uncontrollably.

She could handle anything but this. Would it be better to die? she honestly asked herself.

RAFIQUE AZIZ CAME marching into the White House mess and glared at the huddled mass of frightened hostages. No one dared look at him after seeing what he was capable of.

With his hands on his hips'aziz said, "Everybody, listen to me and you will not be hurt." Aziz began to walk around the circle.

"If I tap you on the shoulder, I want you to go stand against the wall by the door. A third of you are being set free. If your government cooperates tomorrow, another third of you will be set free."

Aziz knew the second part of the statement to be a lie, but honesty was hardly his strong suit. "Ifany of you talk or do not cooperate in any way, you will be forced to sit back down."

Aziz began tapping the shoulders of those hostages closest to the door.

Those farthest from the door quickly realized they would not be released. Several of them started to cry, and Aziz shouted, "Silence, or I will come over there and shoot you!"

Anna Rielly couldn't believe it; her prayers were about to be answered.

As the leader worked his way closer, her spirits soared. She was going to be set free. Rielly grabbed Stone Alexander and told him to sit up.

The pretty male reporters hair was pasted to one side of his head, with a large clump sticking straight up in the air, and he gave no sign that he knew what was going on. Aziz tapped Rielly on the shoulder and then Alexander. Anna stood and pulled Alexander to his feet.

As she walked toward the door, she felt as though it were all a dream.

Rielly looked at the other hostages that were standing by the door and smiled. It was really going to happen.

Her smile vanished Instantly when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

Trying to ignore it, Rielly took another step, but the fingers dug in deep and yanked her to a stop. Alexander kept walking in his trancelike state toward the others that were being set free.

The terrorist with the slicked-back hair, the one who had driven the delivery truck into the underground parking garage of the Treasury Building, yanked Anna Rielly to a stop and yelled to Rafique Aziz in Arabic. Aziz stopped his count for a second, looked at the woman his man was talking about, and nodded his consent. Then, pointing to another hostage that was still seated, he said, "You take her place." Aziz could not have cared less what his men wanted to do with these women.

They were the spoils of war.

With a quick yank, Rielly pulled herself from the terrorist's grip.

"Take your filthy hands off me."

Abu Hasan, somewhat surprised at the strength of the slender woman, paused for a brief second and then raised his hand.

In a wide arcing motion he swung at her head with an open hand.

Rielly, at her fathers suggestion, had enrolled in selfdefense classes after the rape. She had taken them very seriously, and the instincts were still there. She saw the blow coming and raised her forearm. The blow knocked her slightly off balance, but she remained defiantly on her feet.

What Rielly didn't know was that she would have been better off if she had kept her instincts in check. Like most Arab men, Abu Hasan was used to submissive women and was not about to tolerate this type of behavior, especially in front of the other men. This time he swung with a closed fist and hit a cowering Rielly in the temple. The blow sent Rielly to the floor, where she curled up in a ball. Kicking her in the back viciously, the terrorist then grabbed her by the hair and dragged her back to the main group of hostages. He released her hair and dropped her to the floor like a sack. Rielly lay there, her hands covering her face as the tears flowed from her eyes, her back and head screaming in pain.

She wasn't crying as much from the pain as from mental anguish. Anna Rielly knew what was going to happen to her, and the vision of what lay ahead only made her cry harder.