“Thank you, Nancy,” he said.

“Good luck.”

Gideon disconnected and explained to Tillman what Nancy had told him.

“You okay?” Tillman asked.

“Yeah. But if we can’t sneak or brazen our way through, we’re going to have to mount an assault on the Capitol—something so over the top that it would force them to evacuate the building . . . or at least recheck all their security precautions.”

“You’re talking about some kind of suicide attack.”

Gideon nodded. “Kate is in there. If I can’t stop Wilmot and get her out. I won’t have a choice. But you don’t have to come with me.”

“Are you kidding? Of course I’m coming with you. I’m your brother.”

“I know how the government treated you. You don’t owe those people a thing—especially not your life.”

“Gideon, the truth is I would come with you even if you weren’t my brother. I may not seem like much of a patriot anymore, but I still love this country, and I’m not going to let a pair of wackos kill a bunch of innocent people. But most of all, I’m not going to let them kill you or my future sister-in-law. Not if I can help it.”

Gideon regarded Tillman’s lined and tired face, so different from his own, and yet so familiar. “Thank you,” he said, brimming with gratitude.

“Now let’s go blow up some shit.”

Gideon snaked around the bombproof barriers at the Russell Building parking garage entrance. When they pulled into the lot, a Capitol police officer checked their IDs wordlessly, punching them into the computer that held the list of people who were cleared to park there that evening.

Gideon’s heart was pounding as the officer yawned and then stared at the screen. For all he knew the computer could be networked into whatever system listed them as wanted by the FBI.

But apparently the computer was just for parking clearances. The bored officer waved them through and went back to reading Teigthehe Washington Post.

The parking garage was nearly full.

“Just leave it here,” Tillman said once they’d wound down to the level of the tunnel connecting them to the Russell Building.

Gideon pulled up next to the elevators and climbed out of the car. He was still wearing his tactical gear.

According to Nancy, the entrance to the tunnel lay through a door near the elevator bank. Two heavily armed guards stood beside the door.

“Talk or shoot?” Tillman said.

“Talk,” Gideon said. “If we start shooting right off the bat, everybody goes on high alert and we’re screwed.”

“Agreed,” Tillman said.

“Follow my play.”

As soon as Gideon got within earshot of the guards, he began talking loudly into his cell phone. “Yes, ma’am, I realize that. I realize . . . Yes, ma’am. I’ll be there in less than three minutes, I promise.” He ignored the two guards and walked straight toward the door.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” one of the guards yelled. “Stop right there.”

Gideon waved irritably at the agent with the back of his hand, as though he were more concerned with whoever he was speaking to on the phone. But he stopped walking. “Yes, ma’am, I realize that. I’m already at the checkpoint in the Russell Building. If you could just . . . Right . . . right . . . right.”

“Who the hell are you?” The guard raised his P90 and was pointing it at Gideon. “Stop right there!”

Gideon rolled his eyes. “Just a moment, ma’am.” He put his hand over the phone. “Agents Dillard and Koons,” he said to the guard. “State Department Security. I’m talking to the secretary of state.”

“What?” the guard said incredulously.

“Some kind of SNAFU. The labor secretary’s security is being held up at the door, and I have to get in there and straighten out the credential situation.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute, who are you?”

“Goddammit, I just told you! Are you deaf? Agents Dillard and Koons with the State Department.”

“Where’s your clearance? Where’s your pass?”

“Here, look, talk to Secretary Bonifacio, okay?”

Gideon extended his phone to the guard, and the man regarded it as if it were radioactive. Secretary Bonifacio had a notorious temper, and Gideon could see the guard debating whether he wanted to risk her wrath. Then he said, “Go ahead. You’ll have to surrender your weapons.”

“Sure,” Gideon said. “Of course. Mine is stowed in my vehicle already.” He lifted his coat to show an empty holster.

Tillman unholstered his pistol and laid it on the table by the door.

The two guards then checked them with a metal detector and waved them on. Gideon and Tillman walked through the door, into the concrete tunnel, and began walking toward the Russell Building a few hundred yards away.

“I’m impressed,” said Tillman. “You’re very convincing.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” said Gideon.

They hadn’t taken more than a few strides when one of the guards called, “Oh, gentlemen, I’ll need to see your IDs.”

Gideon and Tillman, of course, had only their real IDs, which would undoubtedly set off alarm bells.

“So much for talking,” said Tillman.

“I’ll take the one on the left,” Gideon whispered.

They turned and walked back toward the two guards. When they got within two yards of the men, they both put their shoulders down and charged forward, smashing the two guards into the concrete wall. Tillman and Gideon were both sizable, fit men. But so were the Secret Service guards. Having spent his life training in the fighting arts, Tillman was better prepared than Gideon for what came next.

Tillman planted the heel of his hand under the Secret Service man’s chin and slammed his helmet against the concrete wall. Even wearing a helmet the impact was enough to stun the man. Tillman then hit him with a short left hook to the jaw, and the man went down in a heap.

Meanwhile Gideon found himself grappling with a younger, stronger man. Within seconds, things were not going well. The Secret Service agent had recovered after being momentarily caught by surprise and was now wrestling Gideon to the ground.

Tillman grabbed him from behind, hooking both heels around his hips and slipping his arms around the guard’s head in what Brazilian jujitsu practitioners call a rear naked choke. It was the same move that police used to call a sleeper hold.

The guard attempted to scream for assistance. But his call for help amounted only to a spluttering, choking noise.

“Grab his arms!” Tillman hissed. “He’s probably got a panic button somewhere.”

Gideon immobilized the struggling officer’s arms just as his fingers clawed for a small red button on the radio unit clipped to his belt. Within seconds the officer’s entire body went limp, his brain succumbing to the sudden loss of blood.

“Get their clothes, IDs, and weapons,” Tillman whispered, pulling a pair of flex cuffs off the unconscious agent’s belt. “We have to move fast. He’ll regain consciousness very quickly.”

They undressed the guards and stashed them in the back of the car. Five minutes later they were crawling into the mouth of the ventilation duct above the old subway line.

Tillman crawled to the grate at the end of the tunnel and peered out. In front of him was the deserted platform of the older subway. There were no guards, no dogs, nothing. He pushed the iron grate out of the wall. It pivoted on rusty hinges with an ear-piercing shriek. On the opposite end of the platform a shadow moved across an open doorway.

“Hold olin>

The lights flickered on, bathing the entire room in bright fluorescence. A tall Secret Service agent entered, hand under his jacket on the butt of his gun. A second agent followed. The second agent shined a small but intense flashlight down the end of the platform to a larger tunnel.

“Clear,” the agent with the flashlight said.

“I heard something,” the tall agent with his hand on his pistol said. He signaled toward the tunnel. “Where does that lead?”