Flood Tide

“I'm pleased to learn that I know something that you don't,” Laird said cryptically.

“If I took a wrong turn, please set me straight.”

“Andrews Air Force Base is too widely known for departure and arrival of aircraft carrying high-level perso

“If you'll forgive me,” said Gu

Laird cleared his throat and spoke directly to Gu

The bus slowed and came to a stop beside the entrance of a short passageway that led toward a steel door standing beneath two video cameras. The forbidding starkness was heightened by recessed fluorescent lighting that illuminated the narrow chamber with an intense brilliance. To Gu

“Begging your pardon, sir, but one more question.” Gu

Laird looked speculatively at Gu

Sandecker shrugged. “In this circumstance I can only rely on speculation and rumor. I'm curious myself.”

“Secrets are meant to be kept,” said Laird seriously, “but since you've come this far and your history of honor in the service of your country goes unquestioned, I believe I can take it upon myself to induct you into what is a very exclusive fraternity.” He paused and then continued tolerantly. “Our short journey has taken us to Fort McNair and directly beneath what was once the base hospital until it was abandoned after World War H.”

“Why Fort McNair?” Gu

“Unlike former chief executives, President Wallace almost never goes near the place at night.” He said it as if it were a comment on the weather.

Gu

“It's painfully simple, Commander. We live in a Machiavellian world. Leaders of unfriendly countries—enemies of the United States, if you will—armies of highly trained and skilled terrorists or just plain crazies, they all dream of destroying the White House and its live-in residents. Many have tried. We all remember the car that crashed through the gate, the lunatic who fired an automatic weapon through the fence on Pe

“That goes without saying,” added Sandecker. “The number of attempts that were nipped in the bud by our intelligence services remains a deep secret.”

“Admiral Sandecker is correct. The professionals who pla

Gu

“Ninety-five feet above us, to be precise.”

“How long has this facade been going on?” asked Sandecker.

“Since the Clinton administration,” answered Laird.

Gu

“It seems a shame,” said Sandecker solemnly, “to learn that what was once the revered home of our presidents has now been reduced to little more than a reception facility.”

Sandecker and Gu

“Mr. President, Admiral James Sandecker and Commander Rudi Gu

The President gave the impression of being older than he was. He looked sixty-five but was still in his late fifties. The premature gray hair, red veins streaming through his facial skin, the beady eyes that always seemed reddened, inspired political cartoonists often to caricature him as a wino, when in fact he rarely drank anything more than an occasional glass of beer. He was an intense man with a round face and low forehead and thin eyebrows. He was the consummate politician. Within days of replacing his ailing boss, no decision regarding his lifestyle or the state of the union was made without considering the potential for gathering votes for his run for office in the next election.

Dean Cooper Wallace would not become one of Sandecker's favorite presidents. It was no secret that Wallace detested Washington and refused to play the required social games. He and the Congress pulled in harness together like a lion and a bear, both wanting to eat the other. He was not an intellectual, but was adept at cutting deals and acting on intuition. Since replacing the man who had been duly elected, he had quickly surrounded himself with aides and advisers who shared his distrust of the entrenched bureaucracy and were always looking for i

The President extended his free hand while still holding the coffee cup. “Admiral Sandecker, a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Sandecker involuntarily blinked. The President's grip was anything but hardy, not what he expected from a politician who pressed flesh year in and year out. “Mr. President. I hope this will be only the first of many times we meet face-to-face.”

“I expect so, since the prognosis for my predecessor is not good for a full recovery.”

“I'm sorry to hear it. He is a good man.” Wallace did not reply. He merely nodded at Gu

“Duncan Monroe, commissioner of the Immigration and Naturalization Service, and his executive associate commissioner for field operations, Peter Harper.” Monroe had a tough, no-nonsense look about him. Harper seemed as if he melted into the bookcase behind him. Laird turned to the third man. “Admiral Dale Ferguson, commandant of the Coast Guard.” “Dale and I are old friends,” said Sandecker. A large ruddy man with a ready smile, Ferguson gripped Sandecker by the shoulder. “Good to see you, Jim.”

“How are Sally and the kids? I haven't seen them since we took that cruise together around Indonesia.”