After they were positive the units worked properly, Dumond cautioned,

"I'm probably going to lose you guys as you go through the tunnel. The jammer they are using to black out the president's bunker is creating a dead zone. All our sensors tell us that the interference dissipates as you reach the upper levels of the mansion, so I want you to come up to the second floor as quickly as you can and reestablish radio contact."

Dumond reached back into the van and grabbed another pack. "I'm also going to give you this secure field radio. It has more range and power.

And I put some extra radio batteries in here just in case." Dumond held up a small black nylon pack.

Rapp looked at the radio pack and started to wonder if he'd be able to carry all of the equipment through the shaft.

Then responding to Dumond's statement, Rapp replied, "We'll try to get to the second floor, but I can't promise anything until I get in there and see what they have. If everything is booby trapped we might not even get out of the basement."

"I'll get us out of the basement," Adams said confidently.

Rapp took the second pack from Dumond and asked, "Anything else for us?"

"Nope." Dumond stuck out his fist, and Rapp did the same. Banging Rapp's once on top and once on the bottom, Dumond said, "Good luck, Mitch. "Then looking to Adams, he said, "Try and keep this guy out of trouble, will you?"

"I will." Adams smiled.

Rapp thanked Dumond and grabbed Adams. As they walked back over to the Suburban, Rapp's thoughts turned to something he'd been debating for most of the day. The question was whether to arm Adams with a weapon.

Rapp's concern was not whether Adams could shoot straight enough to hit anything, but whether he would accidentally shoot Rapp in the back. It was no small concern considering the fact that the Special Forces community rarely went a year without someone accidentally getting shot, and those people were cream of the crop.

With reservation, Rapp asked, "Milt, what do you think about bringing a gun with you, just in case?"

Adams reached into his pocket and pulled out a .357 revolver. "I already have one."

Surprised, Rapp extended his hand.

"May I?" Adams handed him the gun, and Rapp immediately recognized it as a Ruger Speed-Six. Before automatics became all the rage with cops, the Speed-Six was a popular, dependable gun for a lot of police departments.

The barrel was short, making it easy to draw, and since it was a revolver, jamming was not an issue. Rapp considered for a moment if he should give Adams one of his own silenced weapons and then decided against it. He would just as soon have Adams use a gun he was comfortable with. Besides, if it ever got to the point where Adams had to start shooting, they'd already be well past the point of stealth.

Rapp handed him the gun back and asked, "Do you want a holster?"

Adams shook his head. "Naw… I'm used to carrying it in my pocket."

"All right." Rapp stood awkwardly for a second looking down at the tiny Adams, wondering if he really knew what he was getting himself into.

Adams sensed Rapp's mood.

"Don't worry about me, Mitch. I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't think it was the right thing."

Rapp smiled and nodded with more respect than Adams could have guessed.

The right thing, he thought to himself.

What a difference between his generation and Milt's.

Rapp took the next five minutes to get his gear together.

With all of his weapons, communications equipment, surveillance equipment, and some limited rations, his gear weighed more than seventy-five pounds. Because of the tight space of the shaft, he and Harris had decided it would be best if he towed it behind him with a rope.

Finally, with all of their equipment assembled, Rapp, Adams, and Harris waited at the fence line for the green light.

IN A WINDOWLESS room on the seventh floor of the main building at Langley, a select few had gathered to monitor the progress of Mitch Rapp and Miltadamsthe room was strikingly similar to a television network control booth. On the main wall was a bank of nineteen-inch monitors, four rows of them, running ten across. In front of the monitors, at a slightly elevated table, sat four technicians. At their disposal was the latest in video-production equipment. Behind them, and elevated still further, sat Dr. Irene Kennedy, General Campbell, and several of their assistants. The work surface at this level was cluttered with phones and computers. At the third level sat Director Stansfield, General Flood, Colonel Bill Gray, and Admiral Devoe. The fourth, and last, row was occupied by a half dozen other high-ranking Pentagon and CIA officials.

Conveniently absent from the group was any representative from the FBI, something that Irene Kennedy did not like.

The four monitors in the bottom left corner were showing the networks and CNN preparing for the vice president's national address. Ten of the monitors, just above the bottom four, showed different shots of the White House's exterior.

One was zoomed in on the terrorist sitting in the rooftop guard booth, and the others were either trained on specific doors and windows or general areas.

The remaining twenty-six monitors were pale blue with the exception of one near the middle. It glowed with a reddish hue, showing Rapp and the others at work in the strange red light.

Irene Kennedy's hair was pulled back, and she was wearing a lightweight operator's headset, as were all of the others in the first two rows.

Kennedy nodded slowly as she listened to Marcus Dumond. After a moment she raised the arm of her headset and turned to look up at the two men sitting directly behind her.

"Everything is ready. They're waiting for authorization." Stansfield and Flood looked at each other briefly. Flood nodding first and Stansfield following suit. Stansfield then looked down at Kennedy and gave his okay.

The director of the CIA watched Kennedy relay the orders and wondered again if he should pick up the phone and tell FBI Director Roach what they were up to. He had in part covered himself by passing the word that they were conducting electronic surveillance, but this was much more than that. If things went bad, it could jeopardize the safety of the hostages. THE WORD WAS passed, and the red-filter light was extinguished. The relatively cool night had turned thick and muggy under the canvas tarp. It had been decided that Rapp would go first, followed by Adams, and then Harris. Rapp felt for the slit in the tarp and pulled it to the side. Taking the main pack, Rapp wedged it through the bars, and then with the smaller packs that Dumond had given him, he turned sideways and squeezed through the bent bars. Adams and Harris followed, and the three of them walked softly through the underbrush, ducking under branches and bending limbs out of their way.

They were careful to stay off the paths that the Secret Service had laid out through the underbrush. The paths were designed to funnel fence jumpers into areas loaded with sensors, and although they didn't think the terrorists were using the perimeter security system, there was no sense in pushing their luck.

When they reached the immediate area of the vent, Lt.

Commander Harris whispered into his headset, "Slick, do you have any movement on the roof?"

The reply came back instantly.

"Nope. He's still looking to the west."

There was just enough light from the streetlamps for the three of them to see each other. Rapp nodded to Adams; they had both heard the same report over their headsets. Taking his signal, Adams plucked several of the fake bushes from the ground. The bushes were designed to conceal the ventilation hood during all four seasons. Adams moved the shrubs out of the way while Rapp and Harris unfolded a smaller black tarp.