floor of the West Wing. A uniformed Secret Service officer who was sitting behind a desk watched a monitor as they passed through the door. The monitor was connected to an X-ray machine and a metal detector that were built into the wood-framed doorway.
The officer rose to his feet.
"Good morning, Chairman Piper."
"Good morning, Dick. I have one guest, and I'll vouch for him personally."
The officer checked his list and saw that Piper's office had called late the previous evening and scheduled a meeting with the president.
"Is this Prince Kalib?"
"Yes," replied Piper.
The agent handed Aziz a visitor's badge and said, "Please wear this at all times while in the building, and when you're done with your meeting, return to this desk and turn it in before leaving."
Aziz took the badge, and Piper said, "Thanks, Dick," as he and the prince started down the hallway.
As Aziz clipped the badge to his lapel, he noticed his hands felt almost weightless. His whole body felt light. He was finally going through the real steps of something that he had played over and over in his mind countless times. This was it, and it all seemed so easy. As they continued down the hallway, Aziz reached down and pressed a button on his watch once. After doing so, he glanced over his shoulder and looked at the guards by the door.
Washington, D.C.
ONE BLOCK EAST of the White House a slight man in a white jacket and black pants was vacuuming the hallway on the top floor of the Washington Hotel. The man paused for a moment and looked out the French doors that led to the rooftop patio. Across the street he could see the roof of the Treasury Department and then just beyond that the White House. From this elevated position he could clearly see the guard standing watch on the roof of the Executive Mansion, less than two hundred yards away. The guard was wearing blue coveralls and a matching baseball cap. A pair of binoculars were slung around his neck, and from time to time he used them to scan different areas. On the far side of the roof was a small white guard booth.
Salim Rusan had looked out these doors five days a week for almost three months and watched the movements of the Secret Service. The guard on the roof would be easy to take care of. The young Palestinian shifted his eyes to the far end of the South Lawn, where the Rose Garden ran up to the edge of the Colonnade, just outside the Oval Office. A Secret Service agent was on post, not one of the uniformed officers. That meant the president was in the West Wing, where he was supposed to be. The agent by the Oval Office would be first, and the guard on the roof would be second. That had been Aziz's decision. Aziz had decided everything.
Every last detail.
The pager on the young Palestinian's hip vibrated, and he jerked at the awkward feeling. Aziz was inside the White House. It was going to happen. Rusan started for the closet at the end of the hallway, licking his lips and noting the tightening sensation in his chest. It was time to get ready.
30,000 feet.
Eastern Atlantic Ocean
THEY WERE AIRBORNE and sailing smoothly westward through clear skies.
Rapp looked out the window at a blanket of cottony clouds that seemed to stretch forever. The young Virginian never tired of looking at the sight beneath him. It was always different; every cloud always had its own distinct pattern. Rapp had taken up flying a half decade earlier. It had not been his idea, but part of his continued training with Langley. He quickly found that nothing could clear his mind and relieve stress like flying. He would be asleep in minutes.
As Rapp settled into the comfortable chair, he heard a muffled scream from the rear of the plane. It was followed by what sounded like three long grunts. Rapp looked back at the small door to the bedroom and then leaned one ear against the bulkhead and covered the other with his hand.
It did no good.
He could still hear Harut's screams of pain.
Rapp stood and began to pace up and
The officer rose to his feet.
"Good morning, Chairman Piper."
"Good morning, Dick. I have one guest, and I'll vouch for him personally."
The officer checked his list and saw that Piper's office had called late the previous evening and scheduled a meeting with the president.
"Is this Prince Kalib?"
"Yes," replied Piper.
The agent handed Aziz a visitor's badge and said, "Please wear this at all times while in the building, and when you're done with your meeting, return to this desk and turn it in before leaving."
Aziz took the badge, and Piper said, "Thanks, Dick," as he and the prince started down the hallway.
As Aziz clipped the badge to his lapel, he noticed his hands felt almost weightless. His whole body felt light. He was finally going through the real steps of something that he had played over and over in his mind countless times. This was it, and it all seemed so easy. As they continued down the hallway, Aziz reached down and pressed a button on his watch once. After doing so, he glanced over his shoulder and looked at the guards by the door.
Washington, D.C.
ONE BLOCK EAST of the White House a slight man in a white jacket and black pants was vacuuming the hallway on the top floor of the Washington Hotel. The man paused for a moment and looked out the French doors that led to the rooftop patio. Across the street he could see the roof of the Treasury Department and then just beyond that the White House. From this elevated position he could clearly see the guard standing watch on the roof of the Executive Mansion, less than two hundred yards away. The guard was wearing blue coveralls and a matching baseball cap. A pair of binoculars were slung around his neck, and from time to time he used them to scan different areas. On the far side of the roof was a small white guard booth.
Salim Rusan had looked out these doors five days a week for almost three months and watched the movements of the Secret Service. The guard on the roof would be easy to take care of. The young Palestinian shifted his eyes to the far end of the South Lawn, where the Rose Garden ran up to the edge of the Colonnade, just outside the Oval Office. A Secret Service agent was on post, not one of the uniformed officers. That meant the president was in the West Wing, where he was supposed to be. The agent by the Oval Office would be first, and the guard on the roof would be second. That had been Aziz's decision. Aziz had decided everything.
Every last detail.
The pager on the young Palestinian's hip vibrated, and he jerked at the awkward feeling. Aziz was inside the White House. It was going to happen. Rusan started for the closet at the end of the hallway, licking his lips and noting the tightening sensation in his chest. It was time to get ready.
30,000 feet.
Eastern Atlantic Ocean
THEY WERE AIRBORNE and sailing smoothly westward through clear skies.
Rapp looked out the window at a blanket of cottony clouds that seemed to stretch forever. The young Virginian never tired of looking at the sight beneath him. It was always different; every cloud always had its own distinct pattern. Rapp had taken up flying a half decade earlier. It had not been his idea, but part of his continued training with Langley. He quickly found that nothing could clear his mind and relieve stress like flying. He would be asleep in minutes.
As Rapp settled into the comfortable chair, he heard a muffled scream from the rear of the plane. It was followed by what sounded like three long grunts. Rapp looked back at the small door to the bedroom and then leaned one ear against the bulkhead and covered the other with his hand.
It did no good.
He could still hear Harut's screams of pain.
Rapp stood and began to pace up and
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