“Damn it, I don’t have time for this. His visit has nothing to do with this crisis.”

The chief of staff softened his tone and said, “We know that, but as far as he’s concerned it has everything to do with it. Give him three minutes and then I’ll have Rachel buzz with a call from one of our allies. This way he gets to say his piece and won’t be able to claim that you wouldn’t see him.”

“Fine,” said Rutledge. “I’ll do it. But I want you to know that I think this is a mistake.”

“I know you do.”

“Let’s get it over with. Show him in.”

Anderson buzzed the president’s secretary in the outer office and told her they were ready. Ten seconds later, the door to the Oval Office opened and Alan Driehaus walked in.

“Thank you for seeing me, Mr. President,” said Driehaus as he shook the president’s hand.

“Of course, Alan. Please take a seat,” replied Rutledge as he sat back down. “I’ve only got a couple of minutes, so why don’t you tell me what it is you couldn’t address over the phone?”

“I thought I explained myself to Chuck-”

“And I have to be honest with you, Alan. I told Chuck I didn’t think now was the time to be discussing this. Not with everything else happening.”

“I can understand that, Mr. President, but I have several pieces of intelligence which I find quite disturbing.”

“Such as?”

“First of all, I have it on good authority that less than twenty-four hours ago, an agent or agents of the United States government crossed illegally into the sovereign nation of Canada, and then assaulted and kidnapped a guest of that country who had been granted political asylum.”

Rutledge shot his chief of staff a look conveying how angry he was to be having this meeting and then turned back to Driehaus and asked, “Why don’t you tell me who this good authority is that you’re basing this rather serious accusation on?”

“I’d rather not, Mr. President. I’d rather you tell me if it is true or not.”

Rutledge’s rope was very short today, and he was quickly coming to the end of it. Raising his voice, he replied, “How dare you come into this office and make demands of me? In case you’ve forgotten, Alan, I’m the president of the United States, and you work for me.”

The president’s reaction was answer enough. There was only one more question Driehaus had. “I understand we intercepted terrorist chatter indicating they not only knew we had violated another country’s sovereignty, abducted a foreign national, and brought him to America against his will, but in particular the chatter stated that we had brought the person in question to New York City, of all places. Is this true?”

Rutledge leaned back in his chair and said, “You and I have nothing further to discuss. This meeting is over.”

“You’re right, Mr. President,” said Driehaus as he rose from his chair and removed an envelope from his breast pocket. Placing it on the edge of the president’s desk he said, “I can no longer support the policies of this administration. I will remain at my post for as long as you and my country need me to help get through this crisis, but then I’m gone. I’ve left my resignation undated. Fill it in whenever you see fit.”

As Driehaus headed for the door, the president said, “That isn’t necessary, Alan.”

The secretary turned, a pulse of hope coursing through his body. Maybe the president could be made to see things the right way.

But the man’s hopes were dashed as the president picked up a pen and said, “I’ll fill today’s date in right now.”

NEW YORK CITY

In an ambush, the enemy sets the time, but the attacker gets to set the place, and that was exactly what Harvath and the rest of the team had done. The trick was to select a good location that was also within a reasonable distance of the Geneva Diamond and Jewelry Exchange. Kevin McCauliff felt relatively confident that he was going to be able to spoof what they all hoped was the lead terrorist’s pager.

The idea was to make it look like it was receiving positioning updates from the cell phone of the captured Middle Eastern man whose backpack had failed to explode and who was currently cooling his heels in an NYPD jail cell.

While it might be very odd for the lead terrorist’s pager to be getting updates, it might just be odd enough to pique his interest and cause him to look into why the failed bomber was apparently trying to reconnect.

“And if the lead man tries to call or message our guy’s cell phone?” asked Herrington.

“It doesn’t matter. No cell phones except for first responders and law enforcement are working now anyway. Kevin’s pal at Nextel says he’ll make sure all anyone gets when they dial the number is a fast busy signal and any text messages will fail to go through. All we have to do is keep the updates coming sporadically enough to keep their interest,” said Harvath.

It sounded like a reasonable enough plan, though it potentially had two fatal flaws. The team was divided over whether or not the terrorists would have had a contingency plan-a what to do if you can’t hit your target or your bomb fails to go off. If they did and one of the bombers diverged from that contingency plan-like returning to a predetermined location and contacting an outside player-it might set off alarm bells and instead of drawing the remaining terrorists in, actually push them away. The second potential pitfall was whether or not the suicide bombers would have been privy to the rest of the operation. It was another sticking point that could just as easily work against them as it could in their favor.

There was a third problem that they all agreed on-they had no idea who or what they were going to be looking for. They could set up the world’s best ambush, but if they couldn’t identify their quarry, how would they know when it was time to spring the trap? In the end, they decided they would just have to jump off that bridge when they came to it.

The south end of Central Park fit the ambush bill better than anything else they could think of. It provided ample cover and concealment and multiple vantage points, and with all of the mayhem across the city, the people who had decided to congregate there away from tall buildings or other potential terrorist targets were by and large in the open expanse of the Sheep Meadow. That was a big plus, as the last thing they wanted was unnecessary collateral damage or a ready supply of potential hostages if the ambush went sideways, which at this point none of them were prepared to rule out.

Their goal was to draw the terrorists into the narrow area just north of the underpass that ran beneath the 65th Street Transverse known as the Denesmouth Arch. From there, Bullet Bob, the team’s most skilled long-gun shooter, would have an unobstructed field of fire from both directions. Though he couldn’t argue with Harvath’s rationale, Herrington would have much rather preferred being with the rest of the team. The idea of not being in on the actual ambush didn’t sit well with him at all.

With the light fading, Harvath took Tracy Hastings aside and handed her the night-vision device from his bug-out bag.

“So you’ve got no problem giving the girl with one eye a monocular?”

“Do I look like I have a problem with it?” he replied as he pulled a pair of Motorolas out of the pack.

“Then how come every time I turn around, you’re staring at my face?”

Without even thinking about it, Harvath looked away from her. “You remind me of somebody, that’s all.”

“I’ll bet I do,” she replied, not taking him seriously.

“Listen, being an EOD tech, you’ve been trained to pay attention to the smallest details, and that’s what we need right now. As long as you pull your weight, I don’t give a damn that you’re a woman. And as far as having only one eye, I don’t care about that either. You got a night-vision monocular because that’s all I have with me.”