And that's exactly what they had done that night. President Hayes was out of town, and King had no problem gaining access for his newfound friend and a couple of hot young ladies. King couldn't believe how unlucky he was. Of the hundreds of people who worked at the White House, this crazy terrorist had to pick him. Squeezing his nose even tighter, he said to himself. How could you have fucked up so bad? The pressure was unbelievable. He needed time to think, time to maneuver.

MITCH RAPP WOKE up to the sound of Milt Adams snoring and a brown ponytail in his face. His left arm was pinned under Rielly's neck, and his right arm was draped across her chest. Rapp lifted his head up and tried to retrieve his right arm. This only spurred Rielly to clutch his arm tighter.

How they had ended up sleeping in this embrace might have seemed a little strange, but the stash room was not particularly spacious. After the debacle earlier in the evening, Rapp had stayed on the radio with Langley until almost four A.M. At that time the FBI was screaming to find out what was going on, and the entire operation was put in a holding pattern.

Kennedy had ordered Rapp to get some sleep, and they would call him with orders in the morning.

Rapp, in turn, had let Langley know how he felt, telling them that if they had allowed him to act when he wanted to, Aziz and the other two terrorists would be dead and one Navy SEAL would still be alive. It was no surprise to Rapp that Langley signed off without responding to his statement. Rapp then forced himself to bring it back down. He had done enough clandestine insertions to know that when you are given the opportunity to grab a couple of hours of sleep, you should take it. Rapp found comfort knowing that the next time he came across Aziz, he would shoot first and ask questions later. There would be no more checking in with Langley for the green light.

Rielly had surprised Rapp by taking his arms and wrapping them around her as they lay down to go to sleep. As he drifted off, Rielly had kissed Rapp's hand and whispered something he didn't quite catch. He was more than a little surprised by the warm feeling the little kiss had given him.

Now, craning his neck away from Rielly, Rapp looked at the secure field radio that was sitting between him and Adams. The overhead light was still on, and he could see just enough of the control panel to know that the radio was still on. Rapp had absolutely no idea how long he had been sleeping. He didn't want to wake Rielly but saw no other choice. Taking his left hand he reached up from under Rielly's neck and pried her hands loose. His digital watch told him it was 7:41 a.m. He'd had at least two hours, maybe two and a half. Rapp figured that was more than enough for now. This was hardly the time or the place to be sleeping in. If Langley wasn't going to call him, he would have to call them and get things moving. RAFIQUE AZIZ WAS showered, shaved, and back in the expensive suit he had worn for his historic visit to the White House. All of his men were still at their posts except one. That man was standing behind a television camera in the White House pressroom. The morning sun spilled in from the windows running along the side of the narrow room. Aziz stood behind the familiar podium at the front of the room and checked his watch. It was nearing eight. Behind him, mounted on a blue curtain, was the White House logo.

Aziz watched his man move from the camera to a control panel at the rear of the room. The man looked up from his position and yelled, "I started the two-minute countdown. All of the networks should be receiving the feed."

Aziz grinned, taking satisfaction that he was about to put into play another part of his ingenious plan. He was going to go over the heads of the military and the FBI once again. Like everything else, this had been planned. He was about to appeal to the American people and thus the politicians only new touch was that he would be able to incorporate the repelling of the early morning raid into his speech. That had got him excited. It had been very close. The hostages and the building were wired to blow, and Aziz had no doubt that any attempt by the Americans to free the hostages would result in a blood bath.

That was a price he was willing to pay. He did not want it to come to that, in the interest of self-preservation, but if it did, he wouldn't hesitate for a second to annihilate everybody, including himself. The speech that he was about to give would serve to make sure that a raid by the FBI would never happen. Aziz had followed American polices closely and watched how the leaders handled conflicts, especially those with his new benefactor.

Aziz had admiringly watched Saddam Hussein mimic the actions and rhetoric of Adolf Hitler. Just like Hitler in the days prior to World War II, Saddam knew how to push, pound, cajole, lie, cheat, and basically do whatever he wanted, right up to the point where his adversaries were prepared to put their foot down. Saddam had turned it into an art form, playing the weak United Nations and the political left in America and Europe for everything they were worth. Continually ignoring everything he had already agreed to, Saddam would flaunt his insolence in the face of the Western powers, and then, just as they were preparing to engage in military action, he would send his envoys to the UN. As the might of American warships and allied air power massed at his borders, he would act defiant until the very end, and then, and only when real action was imminent, he would back down.

Six months later the whole process would start over again, and each time the resolve of the arrogant Western powers would be weakened. Saddam had proven that the American politicians had no stomach for war. They loved their surgical strikes and cruise missiles, but were they really that effective? In Aziz's opinion the answer was no. If one bothered to look beyond the TV clips and sound bites, the damage the surgical strikes caused was minimal.

Aziz was prepared to take a cue from Saddam. In less than a minute he would offer the American people that olive branch, and in turn the stage would be set for his last demand, and his triumphant return to his country.

Aziz looked toward the camera and straightened his tie. He had originally considered giving this speech from the Oval Office, but had decided it would only serve to undermine the entire intent of his plan.

The American people would be livid over him sitting in the president's chair. It had been hard for him to resist the temptation to give the speech from the same place that so many other presidents had addressed the nation, especially since he would have loved nothing more than to rub the faces of the arrogant American public in the fact that he was in control of the White House. But now was not the time to prod and poke.

Now was the time to pull back from the brink and get the politicians working for him.

Aziz's man at the back of the room held up his hands and started the countdown. Aziz placed both hands on the podium, and when the signal was given, he cleared his throat and began to recite his speech from memory.

"It is with a heavy heart that I come to you this morning."

Looking somber and passive, Aziz stared into the camera with his dark eyes and said in perfect English, "I wish the American people no harm and wish for this conflict to come to a speedy conclusion. I apologize to the families of the men and women who have died in this conflict. I know that this will seem empty and hollow to many of you, but you must please understand that this is a war… a war that your military and political leaders have started. I beg you, as a nation, to ask yourselves in front of your God, who has harmed whom in this conflict?"

Aziz stopped and looked into the camera, his face utterly devoid of aggression.