By Order of the President (Presidential Agent 1)

“Yes, sir,” Suggins said.

“I just had a telephone call from the secretary of Homeland Security,” Naylor announced. “In the middle of the call, the president came on the line, primarily, I think, to make it clear that Hall was acting at the president’s orders.”

Naylor let that sink in for a couple of seconds and then went on.

“There is some reason to believe that the missing 727 is, or was, at a remote airfield in Chad. A place called Abéché.”

He pointed to a map laid on the conference table. McFadden and Potter got out of their chairs and examined the map.

“They could make it from there to Mecca easily,” General McFadden said.

“Secretary Hall has information suggesting that the airplane was taken by a Somalian terrorist group calling itself the Holy Legion of Muhammad and that it is their intention to crash the plane into the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia,” Naylor said.

“Jesus Christ!” General McFadden said. “Where did he get that?”

General Potter rolled his eyes but said nothing.

“The credibility of Secretary Hall’s intel depends in large measure on whether or not the 727 is, or was, at Abéché. In other words, if it is there, or was there, the rest of the scenario—that it was seized by the Holy Legion of Muhammad and that they intend to crash it in Philadelphia —becomes more credible . . .”

“The Liberty Bell? In Philadelphia? Why the hell would they want to do that?” General McFadden asked, incredulously.

“. . . And if it is not at Abéché, or was not at Abéché,” Naylor went on, a suggestion of impatience in his tone, “then the scenario is probably unlikely. But in the absence of any other intel regarding the missing airplane, the secretary —and

/or the president—has obviously decided to go with what he has. CentCom has been ordered to find out as quickly as possible . . .”

“What’s the CIA got to say about this?” General McFadden interrupted.

“Let me finish, please, General,” Naylor said, icily.

“Sorry, sir,” McFadden said, not sounding very apologetic.

“But to get that question out of the way,” Naylor said, “while I am sure the CIA is already working on this problem —satellites and human intel, if they have anyone in the region—we have been ordered to find out as quickly as possible —without sharing our intentions with the CIA— whether or not the missing 727 is, or has been, at Abéché or not.”

“The CIA’s not in the loop?” General Potter asked.

“The CIA is not in the loop,” Naylor confirmed. “Suggestions? ”

“Off the top of my head,” General McFadden said, “I don’t know where the nearest Air Commando Pave Low1is. But I can find out in a couple of minutes. We could send one in under the radar—I don’t imagine there’s much of that in Chad.”

Goddammit, Naylor thought, there you go again. Doesn’t the Air Force teach its officers to let—make—the junior officer speak first, so he says what he thinks, rather than what he thinks his seniors want, or don’t want, to hear?

“That would probably take longer than the time we have,” Naylor said. “I think the president wants an answer as soon as he can get it. We’re talking about hours.”

“Delta, sir,” General Potter said. “Maybe . . . probably . . . Gray Fox.”

Delta Force was Special Forces’ elite unit. It was famous; there had even been movies—almost hilariously inaccurate —about it. There had been no movies about Gray Fox, which was an elite unit within Delta, because very few people had even heard rumors about it.

That’s the answer I knew I was going to get. And knew I wouldn’t like.

“Let’s see what General McNab has to say, what he can contribute,” Naylor said. “Get him on the horn, please, Wes.”

“Yes, sir,” Command Sergeant Major Suggins said and went into the “phone booth.”

Fifteen seconds later, Suggins called from the phone booth: “Sir, General McNab will be on the line momentarily. ”

“Bring it in here, Wes, and put it on speakerphone.”

Sergeant Major Suggins came into the office carrying the secure telephone, and its thick connecting cable, and placed the instrument on a table between Naylor, Potter, and McFadden. Then he pushed the SPEAKERPHONE button.