As her predecessor Thomas Stansfield had taught her, Kennedy suppressed the desire to get Rapp on the phone and read him the riot act. It would be better to cool her emotions and let him sweat it out for a while. Maybe even the entire long flight home.

No, Kennedy would let the one woman who truly mattered to him take care of things. It didn't matter how good Mitch was, his little powder keg of a bride was going to kick his ass like it had never been kicked before. It would almost be worth it to bug his house just to hear the interrogation. No matter what Rapp said or did, he could not lie his way out of what he had done. He couldn't hide behind national security because Kennedy wasn't going to let him, and unless he kept his clothes on for the next month, there was no way he was going to be able to hide the fact that he'd been shot.

In an effort to keep up her newfound friendship with Mrs. Rapp, she called Anna shortly before 6:00 A.M. and told her that the mission was a success and that her husband would be on his way home shortly.

Anna, grateful for the call, thanked the director of the CIA profusely.

Kennedy, in return, thanked Anna for being so understanding and told her to call if she had any questions.

This sudden coziness between his boss and wife would give the intensely private and compartmentalized Rapp reason for pause once he found out about it. Kennedy took a certain amount of devious comfort in that and in the fact that Rapp would be dreading how to explain what had happened.

As Kennedy stepped off the elevator on the third floor of the Executive Mansion she was prepared to do what Presidential advisors had done for centuries: spin. She didn't care for the tactic, but one of her most trusted and loyal employees had put her in the awkward situation of having to do so. The alternative would be to tell the President the stark truth, which could potentially have some ramifications that she didn't need to deal with right now.

The outcome of the operation was just what the President had wanted. The Andersons were safe, the United States had suffered no casualties and a message had been sent to the terrorists. Using Rapp's line of logic, or defense as Kennedy was more inclined to say, it didn't much matter how they got there, just so long as they got there.

Kennedy entered the fitness room and after sidestepping a weight bench approached the President, who was hunched over the console of a stair-stepper.

Hayes tore his eyes off one of three TVs mounted on the wall in front of him. He'd seen Kennedy enter the room in the reflection of the mirrored wall. With sweat pouring from his face he snapped, "What in the hell happened in Israel last night?"

Kennedy was only momentarily caught off guard. On her way over from Langley she'd scanned the Presidential Daily Brief, a top secret document compiled by the CIA that kept the President and his top national security advisors apprised of what was happening in the world.

"I've already put a call in to Ben Freidman, but he hasn't gotten back to me yet."

The President frowned at the mere mention of Freidman's name.

He was well acquainted with the head of Mossad. He in fact detested the man, and if it wasn't for Kennedy, the President would have demanded that Prime Minister Goldberg fire the bastard.

The President wiped a film of sweat from his face with a towel and growled, "It still burns my ass that he has a job."

Kennedy instantly regretted mentioning Freidman's name. The previous year he had been caught giving intelligence to, and aiding, one of the President's chief political adversaries. It had taken a great deal of skill to convince the President that it would be better to keep Freidman in his post and use his guilt as leverage.

Hayes looked at the clock.

"What time is it over there?"

"They're seven hours ahead of us, sir. It's two-twenty in the afternoon."

"How long ago did you call him?"

"About thirty minutes ago." Kennedy folded her arms in front of her. She'd actually put in the call about an hour ago, but saw no reason to get the President more agitated than he already was.

"Well, call him back again," snapped Hayes.

"And tell him I want some answers!" Pointing at one of the TVs he said, "They leveled an entire city block, and they're saying the death toll could surpass one hundred people, for Christ's sake."

Kennedy looked awkwardly at the floor and then back at the President's reflection in the mirror. He had grown considerably more irritable lately.

"Sir," she cautioned, "you know the Palestinians always inflate those numbers."

Hayes gripped a black bar with one hand and with the other he lowered the speed of the machine.

"Have you seen the footage?" he asked a little less confrontation ally

"Yes."

"And you don't think it looks bad?"

"Yes, it does, sir, but let me get some more information before we jump to any conclusions."

Hayes nodded and began to breathe a little easier. Realizing he'd been a little hard on one of his most trusted advisors he asked, "So, did you have a good time last night?"

"Yes, I did. It was a very nice party, sir."

"Good." He mopped his brow again and asked, "What's happening over in the Philippines?"

Kennedy forced a smile and adjusted her glasses.

"I have good news. The Anderson family is safely onboard the Belleau Wood as are all military personnel who participated in the operation."

As if someone had delivered an unexpected gift, a mix of joy and confusion spread across the President's face. He glanced at the clock on the wall and said, "I thought the rescue wasn't set to take place for another hour or two."

"Well, there were some developments during the evening, sir, that caused us to move up our timetable." Fortunately, Kennedy knew the President was a man who never punished success. Like most good chief executives he delegated authority and wanted results.

"A tropical storm blew in," she continued to explain, "threatening to ground our aircraft. At the same time, the rain provided the cover needed to sneak our ground forces into position earlier than we had anticipated. Not wanting to lose the opportunity we gave the green light and it went off without a hitch." Kennedy was tempted to mention that Rapp had been shot, but for now she wanted to keep that little nugget of information to herself.

The President's face lit up.

"That's great! When will they be arriving stateside?" The politician in him was already looking forward to greeting the family.

"They have to wait for the storm to break and then they'll start back. They could be here as early as tomorrow or Monday."

"And how are they doing?"

"Fairly well," answered Kennedy.

"A little malnourished and covered with insect bites, but otherwise stable."

The President stopped the machine and climbed off. He moved over to a treadmill and climbed on.

"How are they psychologically?"

Hayes pressed several buttons and the tread started moving.

Kennedy could only guess at the horrors they had suffered. From her intelligence reports on other kidnappings, Abu Sayyaf and MILF were fairly humane in the sense that they seemed to avoid rape and torture, especially of Americans. But still, being held captive thousands of miles from home in extremely primitive conditions would have taken its toll.

"I'm not sure, sir. For now I bet they're just happy to be free."

"Yeah, I suppose." The belt picked up speed and the President began walking faster. He pumped his arms and said, "Do me a favor and brief Valerie on this." The President glanced at the wall clock.

"She's usually in by eight on Saturdays."

The President needed his chief of staff. Kennedy understood better than most how Washington worked. Political effectiveness rose and fell with the tide of positive or negative media attention. This was too good of a story not to manage properly. Kennedy would brief Valerie Jones and then Jones in turn would mobilize the formidable White House communications and press people. They would prod and squeeze this story into a five-point jump in the polls.