"What exactly do you mean by low-key?" asked Hayes.

Kennedy hesitated and then asked, "Do you trust Mitch, sir?"

"Of course I do."

"Well, he thinks that the Belleau Wood battle group has all the assets we need to pull off a successful hostage rescue, and in light of what happened the other night, he thinks it best not to get the entire national security apparatus involved."

Hayes folded his arms across his chest and stared into space for a moment. It was obvious he was torn between his trust for Rapp and his natural instinct to manage the situation.

"What type of timetable are we looking at?"

"The Philippines are fourteen hours ahead of us, sir. It's tomorrow morning there." Kennedy adjusted her glasses.

"The earliest we'd launch a rescue operation is after sundown, which gives us at least eleven hours to prepare. Mitch is proposing that we give him the authority to put a plan together on-site, and then report to us tomorrow morning, our time, before we launch the rescue."

Hayes thought about this for a moment and then turned to General Flood.

"What do you think?"

The chairman of the Joint Chiefs looked at Kennedy.

"What are we up against?"

"Enemy strength is estimated at sixty armed men… light machine guns mostly and a few RPGs."

As a soldier who'd been in battle, Flood was not a fan of micro-managing situations from thousands of miles away. He thought about the assets available and said, "The Belleau Wood has more than enough muscle to handle the job, sir. She has a task unit onboard, along with a platoon of Force Reconnaissance marines, and there's also an entire battalion of marines onboard for backup if things get hairy."

Hayes shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

"What's your recommendation?"

Flood checked his watch.

"I'd say let Mitch put a plan together. We can convene in the Situation Room in the morning and get a briefing before we give it a green light. Until then the best thing we can do is stay out of their way."

The President stood in front of the fireplace considering the advice he'd just been given. He shifted his gaze to Kennedy.

"Irene, I assume you agree?"

Kennedy's predecessor had taught her many valuable lessons. One of the better ones was that men of power were best persuaded by their own words.

"You've said it yourself before, sir. Mitch has a way of getting things done. I'd say the best person to handle this situation is right where we need him."

Hayes agreed with a curt nod.

"All right. Let's plan on convening tomorrow morning. In the meantime I expect the two of you will monitor the situation closely."

Both Kennedy and Flood said they would.

"Good." Hayes nodded and then said, "All right, then, if you'll excuse me, I need to pick up my date."

THIRTY THREE.

Flood and Kennedy took the elevator down to the first floor. For reasons of decorum and tone, more than for national security, a little subtlety was now called for. It was only one flight, but the stairs opened out onto the wide Cross Hall, where visitors were gathered waiting for the band to play "Hail to the Chief" and watch the President, the first lady and the Canadian prime minister and his wife descend the long staircase. The crowd that was assembled in the Cross Hall consisted of foreign Ambassadors, press, dignitaries, Senators, Congressmen, two Supreme Court justices and a bevy of celebrities and wealthy contributors.

The sight of the director of the CIA and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs descending the stairs together would lead to endless speculation that a crisis was brewing.

Kennedy and General Flood stepped from the elevator and were guided through the velvet ropes that cordoned off one end of the hallway.

They'd gone no more than fifteen feet through the well dressed crowd when the general was snatched from Kennedy's side by the majority leader of the Senate. Kennedy didn't slow for a second, lest the senator pull her into the group and begin pumping her for information.

In her mind a state dinner was not the place to discuss national security. She continued into the East Room in search of a drink. Now that she was at the party itself, she felt an urge to take the edge off.

She'd almost made it to the bar when a hand gripped her arm.

Kennedy turned to see a familiar and often unfriendly face.

"Hello, Director Kennedy."

Kennedy looked at the dazzling green eyes of the young reporter and smiled.

"Anna, for the last time, please call me Irene."

"I'm just trying to be respectful," replied a less than sincere Anna Rapp. She instinctively disliked her husband's boss. When pressed on the point by Mitch she had to admit that much of it had to do with the fact that Kennedy knew him better than she did.

"Hmm." Kennedy frowned, not buying a word of it.

Cutting straight to the chase, Anna asked, "Would you please tell me where my husband is?"

Looking at the pretty young reporter and thinking of her conversation with Jack Warch, Kennedy decided that now might be just the right time for the two of them to have a good talk.

"Anna, you look like you could use a drink." Grabbing her by the arm, Kennedy led her to the bar.

"Two cosmopolitans, please." The bartender nodded and went to work.

"Irene, officially, I'm on duty. I don't think I should be drinking a cosmopolitan."

Kennedy glanced sideways at her.

"Anna, I'm always on duty, and no offense, but my job's a little more important than yours. Besides"-she looked at Anna's strapless evening gown-"I don't think you're going to be standing outside in that little outfit giving any live updates."

Anna was slightly caught off guard by both the tone and the message.

This was the most she'd ever heard from the always polite, but tight-lipped Kennedy.

"No, its not that, it's just that whenever I'm at the White House, officially I'm working."

Kennedy ignored her, grabbed the two martini glasses from the bartender and handed one to Anna.

"Follow me."

Through the thickening crowd they went in search of a quiet place to talk. They garnered more than a few glances; both attractive women in their own right, Anna Rapp stunning and recognized by almost all, Irene Kennedy classy and reserved and also recognized by all, though for vastly different reasons.

As they continued through the East Room several people tried to stop Kennedy. Each time she smiled, apologized and kept moving. At the southern end of the opulent room they found a quiet spot and turned to face each other.

Kennedy held up her glass and in a conciliatory tone she said, "To your husband. One of the finest men I've ever known."

Anna wasn't sure how much she was supposed to read into the comment, but before she had time to really think about it Kennedy touched her glass and it was time to drink. The cold, fruit-tinged vodka went down smoothly. In a less confrontational voice the reporter asked, "So, tell me, where have you sent my husband off to this time?"

Kennedy took another sip while she thought of how best to handle this. Deciding on a bit of an unusual course, she asked, "Didn't he tell you?"

This threw Anna for a bit of a loop and then she caught the sarcasm.

"No, he didn't tell me, and you know he didn't. So why don't you?"

Kennedy literally never lost her temper, but this pushy reporter was begging to be put in her place. Where this lack of emotional control originated from she wasn't exactly sure, but she could hazard a guess.

It lay somewhere in the belief that Mitch deserved better. In a chilly tone she asked, "Do you have any respect whatsoever for your husband?"

"Of course I respect him," snapped Anna.

"Then why do you put him at risk by walking around like a put-off high school homecoming queen?"