By Order of the President (Presidential Agent 1)

“Now we’re working, okay? And this is my turf.”

“Oddly enough, Sergeant,” General Miller said, “I really didn’t think you were from the Visitors’ Bureau.”

The presence of Sergeant Betty Schneider of the Philadelphia Police Department had been explained with a rather convincing fabrication, loosely based on the facts but not touching in any way on the possibility that the Liberty Bell was about to be the target of a terrorist attack.

Castillo had told Mrs. Miller, and the rest of the family, that the Department of Homeland Security, to which he had been assigned for some time as a liaison officer between the department and Central Command, and to which Major Miller had just been assigned, wanted to establish a closer relationship with the Philadelphia Police Department, in particular the Counterterrorism Bureau and the Organized Crime and Intelligence Unit. Commissioner Kellogg, more as a courtesy to Secretary Hall than to Castillo or Miller, had arranged for the Visitors’ Bureau—which dealt with visiting movie stars and the like—to provide them with a car and a driver, Sergeant Schneider, to escort them around and answer what questions she could.

Castillo smiled at Betty Schneider.

“You may tell him, Sergeant,” he said.

“I’m with the Organized Crime and Intelligence Unit, General,” she said.

“And we got lucky with the commanding officer of the Counterterrorism Bureau, General,” Castillo explained. “He served with Special Forces. He ‘asked’ the commanding of ficer of Organized Crime and Intelligence if he could spare Sergeant Schneider to help us.”

“There’s one more thing, Major,” Betty said. “Chief Inspector Kramer strongly suggests that Major Miller do the meet, not you. And that he dress appropriately.”

“Because of where you’re going?” General Miller asked.

She nodded and said, “White men, like new Ford sedans, on West Seltzer Street, after dark . . .”

“Dress appropriately?” General Miller asked.

“Work clothes, preferably dirty and torn,” Betty said.

“I think we have what you need in the garage,” General Miller said.

“You said change cars,” Castillo said. “Where do we do that?”

“Internal Affairs has been told to give us whatever we want,” she said. “They have a garage full of them, mostly drug bust forfeitures. Dungan Road. Downtown. Not far from where we’re going.”

“Is there a weapon Dick can have, General?” Castillo asked.

“Is he going to need one?” General Miller asked, looking at Betty Schneider.

“You never need a gun unless you really need one, General, ” she said.

General Miller opened the center drawer of his desk and took out what looked like a cut-down Model 1911A1 .45 ACP semiautomatic pistol. He ejected the magazine, racked the action back to ensure the weapon was not loaded, and then handed it to Betty.

“They used to make these at the Frankford Arsenal,” he said, “cutting down a standard Model 1911A1. Shorter slide, five- rather than seven-shot magazine, etcetera. They were issued to general officers; the American version, so to speak, of the general officer’s baton—swagger stick—in other armies.”

She examined it carefully.

“Very nice,” she said, then raised her eyes to his. “I can put this in my purse and give it to him later,” she said.

“Why don’t you do that?” General Miller replied, handing her the magazine he had ejected and a second one, also loaded with five rounds, he pulled from the drawer. “And when you do, please tell him that if at all possible I’d like it back in the same condition it is now.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, but she was obviously confused by the remark.

“That is, never fired in anger,” General Miller said.

[THREE]

Camp David Catoctin Mountains, Maryland 1755 9 June 2005

“May I speak freely, Mr. President?” Beiderman asked several minutes later.

The president held up both hands, palms upward, yielding the floor.