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President Hayes didn't bother to look up when his chief of staff sat.
Jones studied him for a second and then asked, "Why wouldn't they have come?"
Hayes shook his head.
"I don't know. They must have a good reason."
"Like what? Isn't it our policy not to negotiate with terrorists?"
Hayes glanced over at her.
"We don't always stick to policy."
"Well, who's making the decisions?"
The president looked at her with his tired eyes.
"As I told you yesterday, if they're following the Constitution, which I'm sure they are, the powers of the presidency will have been transferred to Vice President Baxter."
Jones rolled her eyes.
"That isn't good news." The president did nothing at first and then nodded slowly in agreement.
"Why wouldn't he send in the FBI?"
"I don't know. Valerie." Hayes sounded very impatient. The tension and lack of sleep were working on his nerves.
"Well, it makes no sense." Jones moved forward cautiously.
"Everything you said about the FBI striking before sunrise made sense. I don't understand why they wouldn't have come."
"There's a lot we don't know about. They could have plenty of good reasons why they're waiting to attack."
Jones was keenly aware of the problems between President Hayes and Vice President Baxter. She and the president had discussed them on many occasions. If she could get the president to focus his anger on Baxter, her minor role in this debacle would be forgotten.
In a voice just barely above a mumble, Jones planted the seed that she hoped would shift the president's righteous thoughts in a different direction.
"Or Baxter likes being president."
IRENE KENNEDY STOOD in her office and watched the sun rise over the trees of the Potomac River Valley. Any attempt to count her hours of sleep over the last week would be a wasted exercise. They were too few and too far between. She had more pressing things on her mind, and besides, thinking of sleep only caused her to worry more about Rapp.
Ke
Things had fallen apart, and they had done so miserably.
At 2:23 A.M. Ke
He had stumbled down the hall and into the FBI's command post in his boxers and T-shirt. Once on the phone, Mcmahon was further confused by the wild accusations Aziz had Hung at him. Everything Aziz said came up empty with Mcmahon. Mcmahon tried in vain to deny the accusations, but Aziz only grew more irritated. As Aziz began to threaten to kill hostages, Mcmahon began to link the recent events with a phone call he had received from FBI Director Roach, the previous evening.
Roach had explained to Mcmahon that the CIA would be moving some sensitive surveillance equipment into position by the east fence of the White House. In less than a minute, one of Mcmahon's agents had a set of blueprints rolled out on the table before him and was stabbing his finger at the location of a ventilation duct on the South Lawn. As things fell into place, Mcmahon assured Aziz that he would get to the bottom of the thing within five minutes. Mcmahon's next phone call was to his colleague and good friend, Irene Ke
That was when the control room at Langley started to piece together what had happened. Upon receiving Mcmahon's call. General Campbell ordered Harris to send one of his men into the shaft to find out what was going on. Not long after that, the two SEALS were pulled out of the shaft by an electric winch. Nick Shultz had fulfilled the SEAL code of honor of never leaving a man behind in battle, dead or alive.
When the shooting started, Shultz was trailing just far enough behind to be safe from the shots, but within reach of the gear that Craft was pulling behind him by rope. Struggling, he pulled his swim buddy back through the narrow confines of the duct, inch by inch, praying his friend would be alive when they reached the other end. It was all for naught. Craft was dead.
Now, standing at the window of her seventh-floor office at Langley and watching the sun climb into the morning sky, Ke
A knock on the door pulled Ke
The door opened and closed, but whoever had just entered had chosen to stay silent until recognized. Ke
"Skip, I couldn't say anything to you last night. There were far too many people around."
Mcmahon, dressed in a suit and tie, stared her down—his hands on his hips and deep dark circles under his eyes.
"I can't believe you didn't tell me."
"I'm sorry."
Mcmahon shook his head slowly from side to side.
"You and I have never played these games. We always been straight up with each other."
"I know; I apologize. It's just that things happened too fast last night. I wanted to tell you… I asked if I could bring you in on it, and I was told to wait."
"By who, Thomas?"
"It goes higher than that."
Mcmahon frowned skeptically.
"How much higher?"
Ke
Mcmahon reached out and grabbed Ke
"No more games. I want the truth."
Ke
"You have to keep it to yourself."
"The hell I do," snapped Mcmahon.
"Don't talk to me like that," chided Ke
"We're friends."
"Well, friends don't let friends get ambushed by hanging them out to dry."
"Skip, this came down from above. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't..
. and I didn't have enough time to convince them otherwise."
"Who authorized those men to go in, and who decided to shut the FBI out of it?" Ke
"That motherfucker!" Mcmahon wheeled away from Ke
"That arrogant mother fucker. Where in the hell does he get off…"
Mcmahon stopped short of finishing the sentence and strained to regain some composure. Through clenched teeth, he said, "This is an FBI operation. Not the CIA and not the Pentagon. If I am not briefed fully and truthfully by you people, I will march right over to the…"
Mcmahon was cut off by the intercom on Ke
"Dr. Ke
Ke
"Yes."
"They are waiting for you in the director's conference room."
Ke
"We'll be right there." She looked up at Mcmahon and said, "We have to get going, but I want you to promise me you'll keep this to yourself until I have a chance to explain further." Shaking his head, Mcmahon frowned and said, "Nope… I'm go
Ke
"No you are not. There is a lot more, Skip. And if you want to know what is really going on, you keep quiet until the meeting is over."