The limousine's brake lights came on almost immediately. David popped the plastic cover on the remote firing device and waited. The long black vehicle inched its way into position and then when it was a few feet short David reached over and pressed the red button.

SIXTY SIX.

Rapp appeared in the doorway of the Oval Office with Secret Service Special Agent Jack Warch. Rapp caught his boss's attention and motioned for her to join him in the hall. Aides and staffers were now coming and going, shuttling back and forth between other members of the President's staff and cabinet. The political machine was coming together for a unified assault on forestalling the UN vote.

Kennedy excused herself and joined Rapp and Warch. The Secret Service agent led them across the hall and opened the door to the Roosevelt Room. Rapp thanked the head of the Presidential Detail and promised to keep him informed.

Kennedy studied Rapp suspiciously and asked, "Keep him informed of what?"

"Our John Doe, who met with Omar and then flew to New York Well, Olivia just found out that he left Penn Station at ten oh five the night Ambassador Ali was killed."

"And where was he-" Kennedy stopped short, knowing the answer before Rapp finished.

Rapp nodded.

"He arrived at Union Station early Tuesday morning just before two."

The director of the CIA studied her top operative, wondering what to make of this unusual development.

"Why would he come here?"

"That's a good question, and I'm not so sure I can answer it."

"I assume from what I heard you say to Jack, that you warned him of a potential threat to the President?"

"Yep. I just wanted to make sure the President wasn't making any scheduled public appearances today."

"So you think he's come here to kill again?"

It was obvious by the expression on his face that Rapp wasn't so sure.

"I don't know, Irene. It could be something as simple as a preplanned escape route. Rather than try to leave the country and get caught, come to where you're least expected to go."

She could tell Rapp didn't buy his own line of thinking.

"What do you really think? What does your gut tell you?"

Rapp struggled with it for a moment and then replied, "I think he's come here to do another job."

"Or," Kennedy added, "he lives here."

This was an entirely new line of thinking. There were plenty of former Special Forces guys living in the surrounding area, at least a few of whom were guns for hire. But there was something about him that was distinctly un-American. A certain look similar to his own. Most people would never notice it, but it was what gave Rapp the ability to blend in when he was operating in the Middle East and Southwest Asia. He thought about the guy being an American and said, "That's a possibility, but if the guy lived here, he would be more familiar with our capabilities, in which case I can't see why he'd risk being seen on camera."

"It's obvious."

"He doesn't know we're on to him," answered Rapp.

"Exactly."

"Or," said Rapp, "we're giving him more credit than he deserves."

"Either way have Olivia run a check through the DOD files."

"I'll do it, but what about bringing Mossad in on this?" asked Rapp.

Kennedy shook her head.

"The President won't allow it, plus he still thinks the Israelis are behind this."

"That's nonsense."

"I'm not so sure," said Kennedy with a raised brow.

"What if this entire thing is a complex sting launched by Mossad to implicate Prince Omar?" Kennedy could tell by Rapp's sour expression that he didn't buy it.

"Just think about it for a minute. If John Doe is really Israeli and they sent him to con Prince Omar into playing the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia, the one role he wanted more than anything in his life…"

"What's their end game asked an unconvinced Rapp.

"Embarrass the Saudis and draw attention to their support of Palestinian extremists."

"I don't know, Irene," he said, frowning, "it sounds like a reach."

"I'm not saying it isn't, but it's one of several reasons why we can't go to Freidman and ask him who this guy is. I do, however, think it's time to bring the FBI in on this."

Rapp cringed.

"I don't know about that."

"If this John Doe is in Washington we have no choice."

He instinctively recoiled against the idea, and it was not a reflection on the Bureau's competency as much as it was on the rule book that they'd bring along. If the FBI nabbed this guy they would have to play it straight up. Reluctantly, Rapp consented.

The two of them left the Roosevelt Room and walked across the hall to the Oval Office. At present there were too many people in the room to tell the President of the recent development. While Kennedy waited to have a private word with Hayes, Rapp called the CTC to tell Turbes to bring the FBI in on the investigation. Before his call could be completed there was a rumbling noise from outside the building.

Rapp instantly tensed, knowing before anyone else in the Presidential office that the noise was an explosion.

SIXTY SEVEN.

True to form, Marcus Dumond sat in his corner cubicle oblivious to the storm that was raging around him. The Bull Pen at the CIA's Counterterrorism Center was a labyrinth of five-foot-tall plastic and fabric dividers. Partly out of necessity, and partly out of humor, the aisles that cut through the area had been given names such as Abu Nidal Way and Osama Bin Lane. Dumond had been the chief planner and street namer of the ever expanding Bull Pen, and he had intentionally located himself on a dead street with limited access.

While his MP3 player cranked out the tunes, Dumond worked the keys of his computer with blazing efficiency, toggling back and forth between three screens, closing windows, opening new ones and shrinking or enlarging others. He was on to something. He wasn't sure what quite yet, but he was definitely on to something. Following Rapp's lead, he'd focused on recent transactions made by Omar's main assistant. The hardest nut to crack wasn't hacking into the secure networks of the institutions in question-that was easy. The real issue lay in the enormity of Omar's wealth. He used literally hundreds of banks to handle his vast fortune. That said, however, Dumond didn't waste his time surfing through the Prince's transactions that were handled by Chase or the Deutsche Bank. In fact he immediately discarded all banks in the United States, England, Japan, Canada and Germany and focused on those nations known for their financial privacy laws.

Dumond had only to read the file on Devon LeClair once to know where to focus his attention. If given his choice, an anal retentive snob like LeClair would bank with only one group of people. The ever efficient Swiss were the perfect match. They thought of everything.

They conducted themselves with a respectful, professional flair that properly schooled men like LeClair demanded.

Trying to run searches based on Omar's name or those of his various holding companies had proven to be too cumbersome. Dumond hid two strategies he wanted to employ before he called in the money guys from Treasury and the FBI to pore over the accounts with a magnifying glass. He'd seen the men and women do it before, chasing down every check, wire transfer and charge to its final destination. It could easily take fifty agents six months to run a thorough examination of Omar's finances, and even then they might miss something.

They had to do things the proper way, both politically and legally.

Even if they knew the tricks that Dumond employed, they would be too afraid to use them. The twenty-eight-year-old hacker from MIT could get results much quicker. None of the information he gathered would be admissible in a court of law, but Dumond had worked enough with Rapp in the past to know that he preferred to settle things in a less public forum.