Though the circumstances were horrible, the press secretary had always hoped he’d be given a chance to write a speech that would be remembered for eternity. He felt pretty confident this was going to be one of those speeches. What he didn’t know was that why it would be so well remembered was still yet to come.

As the president came to the end of his remarks, he abandoned his script.

“And to the terrorists responsible for this revolting act of cowardice, I say this. America will never stop until we have hunted every last one of you down. We will go to the far corners of the earth, draining every swamp and turning over every rock along the way. And when we find you-and we will find you-we shall use every means at our disposal to visit upon you a death one thousand times more hideous than that which you have delivered to our doorstep today.

“ America has defeated the greatest evils of the modern world and it will defeat the scourge of radical Islamic fanaticism as well.

“Thank you and God bless America.”

The red light atop the main camera switched off, but no one spoke. Not even the floor director, whose job it was to inform the president that they were safely off the air.

“Am I clear?” asked Rutledge.

The irony was not lost upon the director, who replied, “I’d say you were crystal clear, sir.”

Knowing it would take several minutes for the technical people to pack up their equipment from the Oval Office, Chuck Anderson asked, “Mr. President, may I have a word, please, in my office?” Pointing at the press secretary, he added, “You too, Geoff.”

Once they had gone through the adjoining door and it had closed firmly behind them, the chief of staff said, “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”

“We’re not going to hide behind politically correct labels anymore, Chuck.”

“I’d say you made that abundantly clear. Along with the fact that the Christian West is now officially at war with Islam.”

“I didn’t say we were at war with Islam. I said radical Islamic fanaticism,” replied the president.

The chief of staff looked at the press secretary. “Am I wrong, Geoff, or are we now officially at war with the Islamic religion?”

“I think you’re taking the president’s remarks slightly out of context,” said Mitchell.

“And you don’t think that’s what’s being done right now by every two-bit imam and petty despot in every Muslim nation around the world?”

“I don’t think it’s beyond repair. He was angry and with very good reason. We can smooth it over.”

“Just hold it,” ordered the president. “We’re not retracting, repairing, or smoothing anything over. I’m tired of dancing around. This country is going to stand by those remarks.”

“All the same, sir, I wish you would have run them by me first,” said the press secretary. “Going off-the-cuff like that can be very damaging, no matter how well intentioned.”

The chief of staff, a longtime friend of the president’s, shrugged and said, “The president doesn’t do anything off-the-cuff, Geoff. He knew very well what he was saying.”

“I don’t understand,” responded Mitchell.

Rutledge took a deep breath. “Am I angry? You’re damn right I am. Our country has been attacked, and I have no idea if because of those attacks my daughter is going to live or die. I said what every single American and every single Western world leader wanted to say and needed to say-radical Islam must be stamped out. Everyone tiptoes around the elephant in the middle of the room while the elephant continues to eat and grows bigger and bigger right before our eyes.”

“What about our Muslim allies?”

“What about them?” scoffed the president. “Radical Islam is an even bigger threat to them, and yet they sit idly by and do nothing at all about it.”

“What about the regular Muslims who might see this as a slight against them and their religion?”

“To hell with them. Mainstream Islam has done absolutely nothing to stop this cancer metastasizing within their midst. They haven’t even wholeheartedly condemned it. As far as I’m concerned, they don’t get a pass anymore. No more sitting on the fence, waiting to see which way this all goes. Either they’re part of the solution or they’re part of the problem. Period.”

The chief of staff as well as the usually verbose press secretary were both at a loss for words.

Finally, Geoff Mitchell said, “Then I guess we really are at war.”

For security reasons, they had agreed that real names would not be used. From an operational standpoint, it was much better that way for all of them. To tell them apart, Jaffe and his team had assigned nicknames to the two foreign intelligence agents working with them. The lanky, dark-complexioned man in his mid-thirties with the Brillo-pad hair and breath that reeked of garlic was called Rashid, while the older, more experienced operative with the pockmarked face, jet black eyes, and Turkish mustache was referred to as Hassan.

Outside the interrogation room, Jaffe banged one of the monitors on the AV cart, hoping to improve the quality of the satellite downlink. “C’mon, damn it,” he mumbled as he tried to tweak the signal.

“I think we’re really crossing the line with this one,” said Brad Harper as he stood and watched the ghostlike images fading in and out of focus from halfway around the world. “Mohammed’s only been in U.S. custody for six weeks. We can break him. We just need to give it more time.”

“We might not have any more time.”

“But now we’re talking about noncombatants. Kids, for Christ’s sake.”

“Really?” said Jaffe. “What about all the kids killed on the bridges and in the tunnels today? Do you think these people gave a damn about them?”

“Obviously not, but-”

“How about all the other kids who will be killed if that sick son of a bitch in there gets away with launching multiple nuclear attacks on our soil?”

“That still doesn’t make it right, and I want to go on the record as being completely against this.”

“Duly noted,” replied Jaffe as the signal finally improved enough for them to proceed. “I don’t know how long we’ll be able to hold the downlink, so get in there and make sure we’re ready to go. And by the way,” he added as Harper began walking away, “I want you to remember that I didn’t get to where I am by being stupid or soft.”

Harper had considered the man neither stupid nor soft. In fact, he might have even been too hard for his own good. Nevertheless, there was nothing for Harper to say. All he was left with was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Marines were honorable, and they sure as hell didn’t torture children.

Even though it was going to happen on the other side of the globe, Harper felt as responsible for what was coming as if he were standing in North Africa carrying out the orders himself. He could only hope that God would have mercy on their souls for what they were about to do.

Moments later, the door to the interrogation room opened and Mike Jaffe rolled the AV cart inside with its multiple cables snaking behind into the hallway. Before turning the monitors back on, he addressed the prisoners, who were Flexicuffed to two very uncomfortable wooden chairs. Both of the men spoke English well enough, so there was no need for a translator.

“It took us quite a while to make the connection between you two. In fact, we almost missed it. We’d spent so much time looking for any of bin Laden’s or Zawahiri’s children who might have gone into the family business, that we foolishly never considered your lineage, Mohammed. You must be very proud of your nephew here. He seems to have really taken to the profession.

“I’ve been trying to figure out what the bin Mohammed-Jamal family crest might look like. Maybe two lions holding a roadside bomb, or would it be more subtle? Maybe a chain of blasting caps over a nice banner that read Women and children first?