Again, I had this ominous foreboding that I-that all of us- were overlooking something important.

Wardell stepped out of the room to make his calls. Moving to the next order of business, Townsend turned to George and asked, "Where are we regarding the military munitions?"

George replied, "The lab reported back. Traces of Composition A5 were found on Fineberg's corpse. That's the same propellant used in the Bouncing Betty mine, and apparently, it's a distinctive trace. We're still waiting for confirmation about the antitank weapon." He paused a moment, then said, "We're assuming the weapons were stolen. Procedurally, the military has to report all domestic weapons and munitions thefts and losses to us. So we've accessed those files going back six months."

George paused again to look at the faces around the table. Like many self-important types, he had a lot of irritating habits, but we had to endure this moment of I-know-something-you-don't before he informed us, "There have been a total of sixty-eight reported cases of theft and loss over this six-month period. So I ordered our people to screen all unclosed cases that included the theft or loss of both Light Antitank Weapons and Bouncing Betty mines."

He then proceeded in laborious detail to describe this cross-examination, which was a curious waste of everybody's time, especially as it was George who had reminded the rest of us that we were running against the clock here. I began to wonder if he was running scared. Clearly, Jennie was the star of this show, and George was becoming like the supporting actor who speaks his lines a little too loud and overacts his limited scenes. Eventually, he wrapped it up, saying, "In the end, we found three possibilities. But unfortunately, our friends in the military don't work the same hours we do, so I haven't yet been able to question the Army's CID, that is, the Criminal Investigation Division."

Townsend looked a little exasperated. After a moment he asked George, "Did you make an official request to CID?"

"I… yes. I spoke with a night duty officer over in the Pentagon. A major named-"

"When? What time?"

"Uh… about two hours ago."

It suddenly became real quiet.

Phyllis looked at me and asked, "Sean, is there a better way to handle this?"

I avoided George's eyes and replied, truthfully, "CID does maintain a duty officer in the Pentagon. But CID headquarters is located at Fort Belvoir, Virginia. We should call Major General Daniel Tingle, the CID commander."

Phyllis looked at George, then at Townsend. She suggested, "Mark, it might be advisable to use Drummond on this."

Townsend looked at me. "You ever work with CID?"

I nodded.

"Then do it." He added, but I think not for my benefit, "Do I need to remind everybody that every hour lost can be counted in lives? We cannot… be Sitting around… with our thumbs up our-"

"Up our noses," Phyllis helpfully interjected. "And you're absolutely right."

"I think I should go with Drummond," Jennie suggested.

Townsend looked at us both and asked, "Why are you still sitting here?"

And we weren't.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

We took the same helicopter, though the pilots had changed out while we were in the building. The new pilot jocularly informed us he was named Jimbo, the flight time to Fort Belvoir would be approximately twenty-five minutes, so we should sit back and enjoy the ride. A stewardess would be making the rounds after takeoff, offering a selection of fine wines, snacks, and reading materials.

I grabbed Jennie's gun and shot him. Just kidding.

About two minutes after takeoff, Jennie's cell phone went off. She answered, "Margold," then listened for a minute. "Yeah, good. Hold on." To me, she said, "It's Chuck Wardell. Meade Ever-hill was found at home, in bed, unharmed. They're moving him to FBI headquarters." She returned to her conversation with Wardell, and they began chatting about the protection screen being set up around Townsend.

It was a little odd that Wardell had called Jennie. But in chaotic situations, people migrate toward competence, and through good luck, good timing, and, if I say so myself, a bit of deductive brilliance, Jennie and I were the heroes of the hour. I reminded myself that nothing has a shorter half-life than a hero.

I whipped out my cell, called the Pentagon switch, and asked the operator to put me through to the CID duty officer. She did and he answered, "Major Robbins. CID."

I identified myself and informed him I worked for the Director of the FBI, which was partly true and certainly more impressive than the whole truth. I said, "You've already gotten a request for assistance regarding some lost and stolen munitions. Right?"

"About two hours ago. An agent… uh, hold on"-he apparently checked his duty log-"Meany… George Meany, asked for assistance. He gave me a list of the purported thefts. I already faxed requests for assistance to the CID offices in the locations where the thefts occurred."

"He explained this was high priority?"

"Yes. I categorized them high priority."

"Well… explain what that means."

"It's SOP to code our requests. High priority means the receiving stations have seventy-two hours to respond."

"Seventy-two?… Is there a higher priority?"

"Of course. Urgent. You have twelve hours to respond."

The Army invented the word "procedures," and Major Robbins had done what he was asked, in a manner both timely and efficient-given his half-assed knowledge of what was going on here.

I didn't want to overwhelm Major Robbins with the facts, so I explained, "Perhaps Meany failed to emphasize the importance of this. So listen closely We are dealing with a… huge,.. fucking… emergency here. Somebody's trying to murder the President with those weapons. If this President dies, his Vice President is going to hunt down whoever failed to stop it and play croquet with their balls on the Rose Garden lawn. Major, do you understand?"

"Uh… got it."

"I'm in a helicopter, fifteen minutes out from Belvoir. During that fifteen minutes, you will call Major General Tingle. You will tell him to meet me in his office. You will tell him to have transportation meet me in the Post Exchange parking lot. You will tell him to round up whatever experts on these cases he needs. Got that?"

"Got all that."

"Repeat it back to me," and he did, word for word.

I pulled a pen out of my pocket. "Give me the case numbers of the thefts Meany gave you."

He did that, too, and I jotted them down on my palm. I thanked Major Robbins and punched off.

Jennie said to me, "You were pretty rough on that poor guy."

"Nonsense. Soldier talk."

"Define soldier talk."

"A simple statement of mission, basic steps to accomplish said mission, and the pain I will cause you if you fail."

She shook her head.

"Look, what if I had been all nice and polite? And what if he got it all wrong? Then I'd feel really bad."

She shrugged. "Well, you can't really blame George. To outsiders, the Army is a very foreign world."

"Exactly. That's why he should've called me and asked for help."

"Maybe if you had a more positive and nurturing relationship with George, he would have."

I was about to toss Agent Margold from the helicopter when I saw she was laughing.

For the remainder of the flight, she briefed me on the unfolding plan to use Director Townsend as a decoy to lure Jason Barnes out into the open. The concept, as I understood it, was to encase Townsend in three tons of body armor and have him move around in public all day, flanked and followed by a screen of handpicked agents, armed to the teeth with guns, bad attitudes, and Jason Barnes's photo. It sounded well put together, it probably was well put together, and try as I might, I thought of no more than ten things that could go completely wrong. But that wasn't my problem.