"They call that the ' ka'ba,' General McFadden," General Potter interrupted. "Muslims believe that it was built by Adam, then rebuilt by Ibrahim and his son Isma'il. It's a brick structure, a ten on the Holy Scale, where the Vatican is maybe a five, if you consider that at least the Catholics let others in to worship:"

": to which," General McFadden said, resuming the floor, "all the rag-heads make a pilgrimage." He paused to glower at Potter for his interruption.

Potter, undaunted, smiled at him.

"Would the rag-heads believe another rag-head had done that? Hell no, they wouldn't," McFadden went on. "Especially when the plane was traceable to us and the body of an American pilot was found in the wreckage."

"George?" Naylor asked.

"It's a little far-fetched, sir," General Potter said. "But it could be done, and I have to agree with General McFadden that it would indeed cause our Muslim brothers to think even less of us than they do now."

"All of them, Potter," McFadden said. "Every goddamned one of them!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Naylor saw activity on the laptop screen and dropped his eyes to it.

(RUSSIAN NATIONAL AND KNOWN ASSOCIATE OF VASILY RESPIN, ALLEGED ARMS

Naylor read it twice. It sounded slightly less far-fetched than General McFadden's worst-case scenario.

And anything is possible. Let's hope this is all it is. Jesus. I hope McFadden's not even close to being right! Naylor laid his hands on the laptop and typed:

Naylor became aware that everyone but McFadden-who was enthusiastically buttressing his "Crash It into the Ka'ba" theory-was looking at him.

"Another theory has come in," he said. "The sergeant major is making everybody copies. While we're waiting for that, would you go on, please, General McFadden?"

[FIVE]

Office of the National Security Advisor

The White House

Pennsylvania Avenue NW

Washington, D.C.

2005 23 May 2005

"Natalie Cohen," the national security advisor said into her telephone. She was a small, light-skinned woman who wore her hair in a pageboy.

"It's me, Natalie," her caller said, the thick Carolina accent unmistakable.

"Yes, Mr. President?"

"I just finished reading the seven o'clock summary."

"Yes, Mr. President?"

"Natalie, as the last item, or the next-to-last item, there's an airplane missing in Angola. What's that all about?"

"We don't know much, Mr. President, but I checked with the Air Force and they don't seem to think it poses a threat to the U.S., at least so far as making it a flying bomb is concerned. It's too small and doesn't have enough range to fly here. There was some concern that it might be used to crash into our embassy there, or in South Africa, but the time for that-if it was to be immediately done after it was taken-has passed. Right now, we just don't know what happened to it."

"Don't you mean, Natalie, ' they just don't know'?"

"Sir?"

"Our enormous and enormously expensive intelligence community," the president said. " We, you and me, Natalie, are supposed to get the intelligence. They are supposed to come up with it, and then give it to you and me. Right?"

"Yes, Mr. President, that's the way it's supposed to work."

"And they haven't been doing that very well, lately, have they?"

"Mr. President:"

"They haven't and we both know it," the president said.

She didn't reply.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to unload on you," the president said.

"I didn't think you did, Mr. President. I understand your frustration. I'm often frustrated myself."

"I wish I could think of some way to shake them up," the president said. "Any ideas?"

"I'm afraid not, Mr. President."

"Matt Hall and his wife are coming to supper. You interested?"

"I'm at your call, Mr. President, but I really have made plans."

"Well, I'll see what Matt has to say, and then you can tell me tomorrow morning what you think."

"What's the buzzword? Buzz-phrase? 'Thinking out of the box'?"

"Dr. Cohen, you are absolutely right. As soon as Matt walks in, I'm going to hand him a stiff drink and tell him to start thinking out of the box."

She chuckled.

"See you in the morning, Natalie. Have a nice night."

"Thank you, Mr. President."

"And when you come in in the morning, I hope you'll be able to tell me we have found this missing airplane."

"I hope so, too, Mr. President."

"I just realized, Natalie, that I'm not kidding. Maybe Matt will have some ideas."

"I'm sure he will, Mr. President."

"Good night, Natalie."

"Good night, Mr. President."

She broke the connection with her finger but did not replace the handset. She pushed a button on the base that automatically connected her to another instrument on the secure network.

"Hall," a male voice said a moment later.

"A heads-up, Matt. I know where you're going tonight. He wants to discuss with you ways to shake up what he described as our 'enormous and enormously expensive intelligence community.' "

"Oh, hell. Thank you, Natalie, I owe you a big one."

"Yeah," she agreed.

"What lit his fire this time? Do you know?"

"Somebody stole an airplane in Angola. That caught his eye."

"Mine, too. Thanks again, Natalie."

"Have fun, Matt," she said with a laugh and hung up.