Gray turned to his B squadron commander.

"Pat, I want advance teams in place at Reagan, Dulles, and Baltimore.

Prewire at least two planes at each airport for video and sound, and do it quietly… We don't want the press covering any of this. Put your people in the airline-mechanic uniforms while they're doing it. The less attention we raise the better. Langley tells us that Aziz is using the Situation Room, so we have to assume he's getting real-time coverage from the media. The FBI is sending us some agents to help with subpoenas." Gray stopped abruptly and slapped both men on the back. "Now get moving. I want updates at the staff meeting in"—Gray looked at his watch—"twenty-eight minutes."

The two squadron commanders hustled off in earnest to form up their groups, and Gray turned back toward the open hangar door. Grabbing his secure digital phone from his tactical assault vest. Gray hit the speed dial for the operations center at the Pentagon. As the colonel waited for the encryption to kick in, he noticed a string of navigation lights descending on the runway. They would be his MD-530 Little Birds, flown by the Army's 160 Special Operations Regiment. These were the stealthy, almost silent, helicopters that would be crucial in any assault on the White House. Farther down the valley. Gray could see another string of red and green lights. Unlike the Little Birds, Gray could already hear this second flight of helicopters.

Those would be his MH-60 Black Hawks. Faster, larger, and louder than the Little Birds, the Black Hawks would be used to chase Aziz if he headed for an airport. Gray watched as the first of the Little Birds came in and touched down softly. Seven more of the small black helicopters quickly followed. Gray shook his head. Everything was happening too fast. If they went in tonight, it wouldn't be a calculated raid; it would be a blood bath. They would lose hostages, and he would lose men. He needed more time to get things set up.

TWO MILES NORTHWEST of the White House sat the Naval Observatory, the official residence of the vice president of the United States. The large circular estate was located off Massachusetts Avenue on Embassy Row, atop a hill. Its many gardens and rolling wooded lawn provided a serenity and seclusion that was quite absent at the Executive Mansion.

Irene Kennedy drove north in her maroon Toyota Camry on Massachusetts Avenue. Every time Kennedy drove through this area of Washington she couldn't help but think that this one-mile strip of asphalt had to have the single largest concentration of electronic surveillance equipment in the world. With all of the embassies spying on each other and their host country, and the FBI, the CIA, the National Security Agency, the Defense Intelligence Agency, and the National Reconnaissance Office all spying on the embassies, it was unlikely that any conversation went unrecorded.

As Kennedy continued north, the large plantation-style home of the vice president came into view on her left, its fresh white paint bathed in floodlights. Kennedy drove past the main gate and the slew of reporters and camera crews that had besieged the compound. Not far past the main gate, she took a left onto Observatory Circle and worked her way around the north side of the estate. A small unmarked gate appeared on her left, and Kennedy turned off the city street and onto the private drive. Four uniformed Secret Service officers and a German shepherd approached her car. The men all wore flak jackets over their white shirts. Kennedy rolled down her window and presented her credentials.

The officer looked at her ID and said, "Could you please pop your trunk Dr. Kennedy?"

After the dog had taken two laps around the small sedan and the trunk had been thoroughly checked, Kennedy was granted admission. Two white steel retractable bollards standing three feet tall and one foot wide dropped down beneath the pavement, and then the heavy black gate opened inward.

Kennedy maneuvered her car up the winding driveway and passed several of the outlying buildings that were used for offices. Near the main house she saw her boss's limousine and parked next to it. She was several minutes late for the nine thirty p.m. meeting.

The normal complement of uniformed officers was bolstered by the black-clad, machine-gun-toting men of the Service's Emergency Response Team. These heavily armed men could be seen patrolling the elevated tree line just beyond the fence. They moved ominously from shadow to shadow, determined not to allow another debacle to take place. A second line OF officers ringed the actual residence, and the vice presidential detail was inside the home, never more than one room away from their charge.

One of the vice president's staffers appeared in the entrance doorway, and Kennedy was ushered into the large foyer. Director Stansfield was sitting on a couch to the right with his legs crossed. He was, as always, wearing a dark conservative suit, white shirt, and striped tie.

Stansfield peered over the top of his spectacles when Kennedy entered, a questioning expression on his face.

Kennedy plopped down next to him and said, "It looks good. Mitch went over to the White House and checked out the fence line. He thinks they can get to the shaft without any problems."

Stansfield nodded thoughtfully.

"What do you think?"

Kennedy glanced up at the ceiling for a second.

"We need someone in there, and he's the best we have."

"What about bringing Adams along?"

"I'm not crazy about the idea, but again, I have to defer to Mitch. He's the one with the field experience." Kennedy looked at her boss.

"You seem to have some reservations."

Stansfield pondered the comment for a second and shook his head.

"No. I trust Mitch. How are you holding up?"

Kennedy rolled her eyes.

"I could use a little sleep, but besides that, I'm fine."

The sound of dress shoes clicking on the hardwood floor caught their attention, and both looked to see Dallas King coming down the hallway.

The vice president's chief of staff was dressed in a pressed French blue dress shirt and a pair of black slacks, looking dapper as always. King stopped about ten feet away and said, "The vice president is ready to see you."

Stansfield and Kennedy followed the swaggering young chief of staff down the hallway.

Without knocking. King opened the door to Baxter's private study, and Stansfield and Kennedy followed. Vice President Baxter sat in a large leather chair in front of the fireplace reading over the speech he was to give to the nation in a little over an hour. Upon seeing his guests, he set the speech and his pen down.

Stansfield and Kennedy sat on the couch, and King stood in front of the fireplace next to his boss. Baxter leaned forward and folded his hands.

"What would you like to talk to me about?"

"We think," Stansfield started, "that we may have found a way to get someone into the White House undetected by the terrorists."

"Really."

Baxter said, showing his interest by moving forward to the edge of the chair.

"How?"

Stansfield looked to Kennedy, and she said, "There is a ventilation system that circulates all of the air in the White House.

The main intake and exhaust ducts are located on the roof, but there is a backup duct that leads from the basement of the White House to an area on the South Lawn." Baxter looked at Stansfield and said, "I've never noticed any ventilation ducts on the South Lawn."

"Neither have I," replied the director of the Cia. "They're concealed with trees and bushes. We done a reconnaissance of the area and feel we can get to it without the terrorists being alerted."

"So what do you want to do?" asked King.

Kennedy remained focused on the vice president.

"Before we can consider staging a rescue of the hostages, we must know what's going on inside. Unless we get someone on the inside to coordinate an attack, our chances for success will be almost nothing."