Memorial Day

Rapp looked through the hoop sight of his submachine gun and zeroed in on the head of a man who was staring through the windscreen of the boat at the Park Police helicopter that was racing upriver. The man slowly turned, realizing that something was now behind them. Rapp watched him intently, looking for the slightest reason to squeeze the trigger. The helicopter was closing distance on the boat. They were no more than thirty yards away. Only a few seconds had ticked by, but for Rapp, the scene was unfolding in slow motion.

The man, who was tall and dark-ski

Rapp had his weapon pulled firmly against his left shoulder and at the very first hint of the smirk he squeezed the trigger twice in less than a half second. Instantly, the muzzle of the submachine gun moved to the right and found the driver of the boat. The helicopter was even closer now. Just as the man was turning, Rapp squeezed off two more quick shots, both of them striking their target just above the left ear.

Ninety-One

POTOMAC-RIVER

The boat started a lazy right turn that would only get worse if they didn't get control of the helm quickly. Fortunately, the two CIA pilots were good. They adjusted to the new heading and brought the portside door of the chopper right over the aft sundeck. Rapp kept his weapon trained on the cabin, and when they were hovering a manageable six feet from the deck he yelled, "Go! Go!"

The man leaped from a squatted position and landed as he'd been taught in jump school, with his weight evenly distributed on both feet and his knees slightly bent. He rolled to his left and came up reaching for his pistol. As soon as he was on his way up the steps to the helm, Rapp yanked his seat belt free and jumped after him. He hit a little harder than he had pla

His thick black silencer probed the shadows first. He could see someone on the floor, but the figure had its back to him. Rapp knew there would be a head down the steps and to his right. Other than that, there were no other places to hide, with the exception of the storage compartment tucked up under the bow. Not having the time or the backup, he jumped to the bottom of the steps, let loose an eight round burst into the closed door of the head, and then yanked it open. It was empty.

Rapp spun and kicked the man who was prostrate on the carpeted floor. His foot caught the man square in the stomach and flipped him onto his side and then back. Rapp leveled his weapon at the man's head and studied his face. The first thing he noticed was the blood dripping from the corners of the man's mouth. Then he noticed the bulging, bloodshot eyes and the burned, blotchy, peeling skin. The guy looked like someone had stuck him in a microwave.

Even so, there was something vaguely familiar about him. Rapp's brow furrowed and then he said, "Mustafa al-Yamani."

Al-Yamani smiled the vacant smile of a true believer, and coughed up more blood. "You are too late," he said as blood oozed from the corners of his mouth. "There is nothing you can do to stop us."

"Where is Zubair?" Rapp placed the tip of the silencer against al-Yamani's forehead.

"He's dead," al-Yamani smiled, showing his bleeding gums, "and he's the only one who can disarm the weapon." He began to laugh. Almost immediately, though, his entire body was racked with a convulsive spasm that sent more than just blood spewing from his mouth.

Rapp forced al-Yamani's head into the ground with the tip of the silencer and said, "Have a nice time in hell, Mustafa." He squeezed the trigger just once and left the twitching corpse to go back topside.

Rapp burst back onto the deck and signaled for the helicopter to back off. He then took over the helm, turned the boat around, and pushed both throttles to the stops. The engines groaned loudly and the bow came out of the water a few feet. Rapp looked back at the cooler and feared the worst. What a hell of a way to die.

Rapp grabbed his secure digital phone and called Reimer. When the voice on the other end answered he said, "Paul, we've got control of the boat, and we're heading away from the city. You got any bright ideas?"

"Is the weapon armed?"

"I think so."

"How do you know...have you seen it?"

"No. I asked al-Yamani where Zubair was and he told me he was dead. He also said Zubair's the only one who can disarm the bomb. So I'm assuming it's armed." Rapp turned around and looked at the cooler again. "Do you want me to open it up and look at it?"

"No!" Reimer shouted. "Whatever you do don't touch it! I've got a team on the way. They're lifting off from the Mall right now. Where are you?"

"We're going back under the Wilson Bridge."

"Seven miles from the White House," said Reimer. "How fast are you going?"

Rapp looked at the dashboard. "Thirty-five miles an hour, and I think I'm topped out."

"A little over a mile every two minutes. That's good. The further away you get the better."

"Paul, I'm not some damn Kamikaze. I hope you have a better plan than me simply taking this thing as far down river as possible until it blows."

"I do...I do, but just getting you ten miles away could make a huge difference. My people are coming and the Blue Team is on its way up from Little Creek. Keep heading south at top speed for at least six minutes. My people will come up on your six and they'll find a place for you to dock. Then we'll take it off your hands."

Rapp looked back at the cooler again. The two men he had shot were lying one on top of another where Sam had dumped them. For the moment, Rapp saw no better option than to maintain course and speed. "All right, I'll keep an eye out for them."

Rapp hung up and looked at Sam, "Radio the chopper and tell them to follow us."

Rapp kept one hand on the wheel, and with the other he began unzipping the canvas top. When he had it halfway across the windscreen Sam took over and finished the job. The top flapped free and floated away to land in the river. Rapp checked his speed and fuel level and hunkered down for the six-minute dash.

THE MARINA WASalmost exactly three miles from the bridge on the Virginia side. Rapp watched the DOE Bell 412 helicopter circle and come in for a landing. Rapp came in hot, ru

Rapp yanked back on the throttles, left them in neutral for only half a second, and then slammed them into reverse. The engines groaned as they strained to slow the forward movement of the boat, and people scrambled in every direction. The boat stopped just twenty feet from the main pier, but its building wake kept coming, rising up over the wood planks and slamming tethered boats against pilings and gangways.

Rapp immediately eased up on the port engine while slipping the starboard engine back into the forward gear. The boat began spi

A middle-aged man in plaid Bermuda shorts, docksiders, and a polo shirt came out of the office and started yelling. "Who in the hell do you think you are?"