Transfer of Power

Mcmahon looked down at his watch. It was 8:34, and they should be arriving any minute.

SHE HAD MADE it through the first twenty-four hours without getting hit.

A

The terrorists had made sleep next to impossible by waking them at least once an hour from sundown to sunup. And to make matters worse, they also pulled people from the group and beat them in front of everyone.

For the women, there was something else to be afraid of.

Sometime after midnight, a young blond woman had been yanked from the group by the terrorist that had followed Rielly into the bathroom.

Rielly could not say for sure how long the young woman had been gone—the terrorists had taken everyone's watch in an effort to further disorient them-but it seemed to be at least several hours. When the woman finally returned, her clothes were partially torn and she had a look in her eyes… a look Rielly had once seen in her own eyes.

Rielly glanced down at Stone Alexander, who was lying crunched up in a fetal position, his jacket neatly folded under his head for a pillow.

She was grateful that he had stopped crying.

The less attention drawn to them the better.

Brushing a wisp of hair back behind her ear, she looked around the room, careful to keep her head down. Two guards were by the door talking to each other. Rielly knew she wasn't the only one who had to go to the bathroom, but no one dared ask after what had happened the night before.

Folding her legs Indian style, she glanced over her shoulder and then quickly turned her head back. The terrorist, the one with all of the jewelry and slicked-back hair, was staring at her with a cigarette hanging from his mouth—the same man who had plucked the young blonde from the group the night before.

A

When she reached the street, two men jumped her from the shadows and dragged her into an alley and raped her. That harrowing event had left her bruised and battered, but her physical wounds were easy to overcome compared to the deeper mental scars. Even these were starting to heal, though, thanks in no small part to Coreen Allen, Rielly's therapist.

Rielly had been going to Allen twice a week for almost four years.

Before the rape she had been a fun-loving, outgoing young woman who very much enjoyed male companionship.

The rape had given her a hard edge and an understandable distrust of men with the help of Allen she had again grown to enjoy the company of men who were interested in her, but the physical boundary still had not been crossed. When she took her new job in Washington, Rielly thought it was the perfect chance for a fresh start.

One of the only benefits of the personal disaster was her hyper awareness Rielly had already had street smarts, but the rape had raised her awareness to an almost paranormal level. It was hard to imagine how her current situation could get any worse, but Rielly sensed that when nightfall came, it would.

IRENE KENNEDY WAS almost run over as she attempted to enter the FBI's command post. Two stocky men in SWAT uniforms came barreling out the doorway. The first almost butted Ke

"Oh, Irene, I'm sorry." Sid Slater, aka the Jewish Terror, was still holding her by the shoulders.

"Sid," said Ke

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" asked Ke

"I'm trying to get some last-minute intel before they start talking."

Slater pointed with his thumb over his shoulder and shook his head.

"And I sure as hell don't want to be in there when the shit hits the fan."

Ke

"What's going on?"

"I don't have time to talk about it; Skip can fill you in. Are you go

Ke

"I'll be there."

"Good… We can talk then. I have a lot of questions for you." With that, the Jewish Terror headed off down the hallway.

As Slater and the other man marched away, Ke

Ke

She had just left the conference room on the other side of the building where Vice President Baxter was gathered with select members of the cabinet and the intelligence and federal-lawenforcement communities.

From there that group would monitor the conversation between Aziz and the FBI negotiator and make any decisions if needed. At Mcmahon's request, Ke

Across the room, by the windows that overlooked the West Wing, Skip Mcmahon was talking to a seated Attorney General Tutwiler and motioning to a group of phones. Ke

A short while later Mcmahon finished explaining to Tutwiler how the different phones worked and then turned to face Ke

"Morning, Irene."

"Good morning." Ke

"Where is your negotiator?"

Before Mcmahon had a chance to answer, Tutwiler said, "I'll be handling the negotiations."

In as passive a tone as Ke

Madam Attorney General, but I don't think that is the most prudent course."

"And why is that?" asked Tutwiler aggressively.

"Because Rafique Aziz will take it as an insult that we have chosen a woman to negotiate with him."

"I am here, Ms. Ke

Ke

"And I am here to advise you as the director of the Cia's Counterterrorism Center, you are making a grave mistake. I respect your accomplishments, Madam Attorney General, but Rafique Aziz will not. He will make you pay for what he will see as a blatant insult to his manhood." Tutwiler defiantly crossed her arms.

"I have encountered chauvinists all my life, and I have found that there is only one way to deal with them… head-on."