By Order of the President (Presidential Agent 1)

“No, sir, you never really can.”

McNab touched his shoulder, smiled at him, and walked forward in the cargo bay. He caught the eye of one of the CWO-5s, a massive—well over six feet and two hundred pounds—black man named Shine, whose bald skull re flected light and was thus logically known to his peers as “Shiny Shine,” and motioned him over.

“A no-bullshit-the-general answer, Shine,” McNab said. “Once I give you the coordinates, how long will it take you to program the computers?”

“Sir, that’s done. We can be in the air in no more than ten minutes after the door opens.”

“You never listen to me, Shine. That’s probably why you’re not a general.”

“We’re not going to Suriname, General?”

“I didn’t say that, Shine.”

“Come on, boss, I have to know. I’ve got a bag full of CDs of approaches to South American airfields. Maybe one of them’s what you need. If so, all I’ll need is fifteen minutes to reprogram. Otherwise it’ll take me an hour, maybe a little more.”

“You got anything in your bag for Costa Rica, by chance?”

“I don’t know, boss. I’ll have to check.”

“Why don’t you do that? And let me know.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Keep it as quiet as you can.”

“When they see me going in the bag, they’ll know something is up.”

“Let them worry; it’ll keep them on their toes.”

“You’re a badass, General,” Mr. Shine said, smiling. “With all possible respect, sir.”

McNab walked farther forward in the cargo bay, opened one of the white plastic coolers, took out a hot dog, a roll, put the hot dog in the roll, spread it heavily with chili and chopped onions, and put it into one of the microwave ovens.

[FOUR]

The Oval Office The White House 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW Washington, D.C. 1120 10 June 2005

“His plate is pretty full,” the chief of staff to the president of the United States said to the secretary of homeland security. “Is this going to take long?”

Matthew Hall gave the appearance of someone who was annoyed, had been about to say something unpleasant, but had changed his mind and instead said something else.

“Is Natalie Cohen in there?” he asked. “If she’s not, send for her.”

He then opened the door to the Oval Office and went in, denying the chief of staff his privilege of going in first to announce him.

The president was sitting in one of two upholstered chairs facing a coffee table. Secretary of Defense Frederick K. Beiderman was sitting on the couch on the other side of the coffee table. The president looked up from pouring coffee.

“Speak of the devil,” the president said. “How did things go in Philadelphia? Do we have one highly pissed off mayor on our hands?”

“We’re probably going to have one, Mr. President,” Hall said.

“You couldn’t convince him that the problem is under control? ”

“With some difficulty, sir, I think I did. The problem is . . . the problem is that the problem is not under control.”

“There’s been a problem neutralizing the airplane in Suriname? I didn’t think they’d even had time to get there.”

“The airplane in Suriname is not the 727 the terrorists have, Mr. President,” Hall said.