"What are you so afraid of?"

"That is extremely unstable material, and it isn't even shielded. How did you get it into the country?"

Khaled, who was standing between the scientist and the pickup, pointed to the trailer that the semi truck had delivered yesterday. "We hid it in a shipment of granite."

Zubair spun around and looked at the truck. Of course. Not only would granite shield the device, but it emitted natural radiation that would confuse any sensors. He looked back at al-Yamani and said, "I'm not joking. You need to get down right now."

"Stop overreacting. It cannot do any more harm to me than has already been done."

"Oh yes it can. If you stand up there much longer you'll be dead before the sun sets."

Al-Yamani looked down into the box and decided to hear the scientist out. He climbed down from the truck and Hasan followed.

"Explain to me your fears."

"That has no shielding and it is showing signs of severe deterioration. Anything other than brief exposure could be fatal."

"I am already dying."

"But that will hasten your radiation poisoning. In order for us to transport and assemble the weapon it must be properly shielded or it will kill us all."

"How quickly?" asked al-Yamani. All he cared was that they made it to their target.

"Most likely before we reach Washington."

Al-Yamani frowned. "So what do you propose we do?"

"As I said, we need to shield it properly."

"Is that difficult?"

"Not with the right material...either lead or depleted uranium will do."

"How long will it take?" Al-Yamani had some extra time built into the schedule but not much.

Zubair thought about it for a minute and said, "A couple of hours."

"Do we have an alternative?"

"Not if you want to take it all the way to Washington."

There was a backup plan to detonate the device in Atlanta, but al-Yamani was not willing to settle for that. Especially after listening to the president this morning.

Sixty

WASHINGTON,D.C.

It was standing-room-only in the bar at Smith and Wollensky's and every table in the restaurant was occupied. Pat Holmes sat at his usual corner table with his back to the wall looking out onto as much of the restaurant as possible. As chairman of the Democratic Party he needed to see and be seen. On a normal night, a half dozen people would have already stopped by to shake hands and say hello, but not this night.

Holmes had a pretty good idea why, and it involved one of the two women at his table. Valerie Jones had the unique ability to repel people by her mere presence. She was, to put it bluntly, a ballbuster of the first order. Jones had religion when it came to her beloved Democratic Party. So thorough was her commitment that there wasn't a Republican who she liked, and she made no effort to hide her feelings. She even despised independents for their spineless inability to pick sides. Her behavior toward the so-called enemy was more characteristic of a fanatical campaign volunteer than a senior White House official. Her pugnacious reputation caused the more civilized players in town to steer clear of her.

Truth be told, when the cameras weren't around, and if it wasn't election season, the vast majority of Democrats and Republicans got along, and in most cases actually liked each other. Holmes fell into that majority. When he had to, he could get out in front of the camera and accuse the Republicans of outlandish selfishness and incompetence, and then go play a round of golf later the same day with his Republican counterpart.

Sometimes he wondered if the president's chief of staff even noticed that she was so disliked by reasonable people. He doubted it. Jones was a very focused person, who had great organizational skills and uncanny political smarts, but who was severely challenged in the people skills department. At the end of the day, though, he supposed every administration needed someone like Jones-a pit bull to keep people in line.

Peggy Stealey was an entirely different story. She had that star quality about her. She had classy good looks; she was smart as hell; she was cunning, and he guessed very dangerous to be on the wrong side of. He wanted to get her into bed in the worst way, but he'd experienced enough dickteases over the years to know the best way to do that was to make her chase him.

The waiter approached, and before he got too close, Holmes gestured for another bottle of Silver Oak. Given the delicate nature of their current conversation, he didn't want anyone coming within ten feet of the table.

"I have no objection to anything I've heard." Holmes leaned in a bit closer and lowered his voice. "I think it will energize the party."

"I agree," said Jones, as she attacked her steak with a knife.

"Vice President Baxter is a dud," Holmes continued. "Stokes is younger, he's better looking, and he's got a pretty wife. He's a little light on experience, but all in all I think he'd be a nice addition to the ticket."

Stealey was about to take a bite of her Chilean sea bass when her fork stopped inches from her lips. "His wife isn't pretty."

"Sure she is." Holmes grabbed his glass of wine. "She's very attractive."

The sea bass was now in her mouth so Stealey just shook her head forcefully.

Holmes took a swig of wine. "Unless you're a lesbian, Peggy, I think I'm in a better position to judge this one. She's a good-looking woman...trust me."

Even though she wanted to argue with him, she knew it was unwise to let her hatred of her boss's wife be known. "Just a difference of opinion...that's all." She took a sip of water and then stabbed a green bean with her fork. "So we have a deal."

Holmes looked at Jones and wondered if they'd bothered to include the president in any of these discussions. "Robert's on board with this?"

"Absolutely. You know he hates the little weasel."

"All right, I know they're a bad fit, but I want to hear it from him personally."

"Why?" Jones took a sip of wine. "You don't trust me?"

"I trust you...I just want to make sure he's thought this all the way through. It isn't every day the president bounces his vice president off the ticket."

"It's been done before," Jones replied airily, trying to stress that it was no big deal.

Holmes knew it had, but it had to be done right. "I said I think it's a good idea. It just needs to be handled right. The last thing we need is Baxter airing our dirty laundry during the middle of a campaign because he feels we gave him the shaft."

"We are giving him the shaft," said Stealey. "And I don't see how he'll view it any other way."

"The party is bigger than any one person," said Jones. "He'll understand that, and if he doesn't, we'll just have to make it clear that if he decides to go crying to the press we'll bury him."

"You're absolutely right," said Holmes. "We play to his party loyalty, and if he doesn't get on board we'll let it be known that things could get really tough. It's absolutely crucial, though, that we get him to go quietly."

Holmes reminded Jones of something and she pointed her fork at him. "Do you know who else needs to go?"

"Who."

"Mitch Rapp. That's who."

Holmes almost choked on the piece of New York strip that he was trying to chew. When he'd chased it with gulp of red wine he said, "What are you talking about?"

"You know who Mitch Rapp is...don't you?"

"Of course I do. He's a walking legend, and he's married to that beautiful NBC reporter Anna Rielly."

"Have you ever met him?"

"No, but what's your point? Why in the world would the president want to get rid of him?"

"The man is a ticking bomb," answered Jones. "Sooner or later he's going to embarrass this administration, and I don't mean some little scandal...I'm talking full-blown Congressional investigation...people being fired and people ending up in jail."