The voice of Dan Harris from ABC News was turned up.

“You’re watching live feed from Boston,” said Harris, “which ABC News can now confirm was the site of attempted terror strike. Less than two hours ago, law enforcement—acting on a tip—discovered something near the Boston waterfront. We have been unable to determine who was behind the attempt, or what was found, but we do know that several vessels have departed the harbor in the last hour.”

“Hey, John,” whispered Dellenbaugh. “You need a shovel for that?”

Schmidt nearly coughed up the bite of steak and cheese.

“If you have a coronary before reelection, I’m going to kill you,” added Dellenbaugh.

Schmidt finished chewing. He took a quick swig of Diet Coke and then turned, slightly embarrassed, to Dellenbaugh.

“John, I apologize,” added Dellenbaugh, before Schmidt could get in a word, “I didn’t realize you were having a Diet Coke. That should cancel out any unhealthy effects from the steak and cheese.”

Schmidt burst into laughter, then was joined by the president.

“I didn’t eat dinner,” said Schmidt.

Dellenbaugh’s attention was grabbed by one of the plasma screens, which showed a lit-up stretch of coast. It was surrounded by military vehicles, ambulances, police cars, and hundreds of people, most armed and wearing uniforms or tactical gear.

“You are looking at an aerial view of Revere, Massachusetts,” said Harris. “This is as close as we are allowed to get. As you can see, various law enforcement agencies as well as military are now clearly in control of what was apparently to have been a strike, by terrorists, on Boston. There are still many questions.”

Dellenbaugh and Schmidt stared at the screen in silence.

“Thank God, sir,” said Schmidt, looking at Dellenbaugh.

Dellenbaugh put his hand on Schmidt’s shoulder.

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Do you want me to write up some quick remarks for the press conference, Mr. President?”

“No,” said Dellenbaugh. “I know what I’m going to say.”

Schmidt pressed his phone. The speaker came on.

“Get them seated and quiet, Joanne,” said Schmidt to Joanne Hildebrand, his deputy.

In the background, the live news report continued.

“We’re waiting for a statement by the president of the United States,” said Harris, “who we’re told was very much personally involved in the government’s response to the terror plot. And, I’m told, we’re going there right now. Ladies and gentlemen, we take you to the White House, where President J. P. Dellenbaugh is going to address the nation.”

100

EVOLUTION TOWER

MOSCOW

Dewey stood—dropping the rifle—and charged, yanking the handgun from his chest holster. He sprinted toward the concrete piling, gun out, then came around it, acquiring Cloud in the muzzle’s fire zone.

His eyes shot to Malnikov, lying on the ground. The left side of his chest was drenched in blood.

Cloud was facedown.

Dewey scanned for his gun. It was on the ground next to his head. With his sidearm trained on the back of Cloud’s head, Dewey stepped forward and kicked it out of reach.

He put his foot beneath Cloud and flipped him over. His eyes were open. His right leg looked badly damaged. His hip was worse. A small chunk was missing, the slug from the anti-materiél rifle having blown it off.

Dewey looked back at Malnikov.

“You gonna make it?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Malnikov, as he struggled to climb to his feet.

Dewey’s eyes moved back to Cloud. Without shifting his gaze, he dialed his cell. A moment later, a female voice came on the line.

“Name?”

“Andreas, Dewey.”

“Flag?”

“NOC 2294-6.”

“Go.”

“I need Calibrisi. Crisis Priority.”

“Protocol?”

“Dayton.”

“Hold.”

Dewey heard a series of clicks, then Calibrisi came on the line.

“Where the hell are you?”

“We have him, Hector. What do you need to know?”

“We found the bomb,” said Calibrisi. “We stopped it. It’s been disarmed.”

Dewey was silent for several seconds.

“You should know, it was Katya who provided the intel.”

“Where was it?”

“Boston.”

Dewey’s eyes moved from Cloud’s eyes to his hip. He’d seen injuries on the battlefield and had long ago been hardened by those horrible sights. But even with that knowledge, the sight of it was gruesome. The dull white of bone was visible within the blood. Tendrils of skin and parts dangled down to the concrete, now awash in blood.

Cloud stared up at Dewey. He said nothing.

He was the opposite of the sort of person Dewey expected. He didn’t look angry or mean. He looked frail, intelligent, curious, above all innocent. Perhaps, at one time in his life, he had been. But something destroyed it.

He heard Malnikov’s footsteps to his left.

Both stared down. To Dewey, he was the one who wanted to kill a million Americans. To Malnikov, the one who took his father away.

Dewey still held the cell to his ear.

“So what you’re saying is, Cloud is expendable?” Dewey asked.

Calibrisi was silent for several seconds.

Then he spoke: “Affirmative.”

Dewey hung up and stuck the cell in his vest. He clutched the Desert Eagle, its steel muzzle aimed at Cloud’s head.

“Boston,” Dewey remarked to Cloud. “Original.”

Suddenly, the elevator cage rattled and started descending.

“We need to get out of here,” said Malnikov.

“Here,” said Dewey, extending the gun to him.

“You take it,” said Malnikov. “You saved my life.”

“Do you want to do it, Alexei?” asked Dewey. “It’s all the same to me as long as he ends up dead.”

Malnikov shrugged.

“Well, I will tell you, I have had this desire ever since he fucked me to put a bullet in that big brain of his.”

Dewey handed Malnikov the gun.

“All yours.”

101

OFFICE OF THE CHIEF OF STAFF

THE WHITE HOUSE

Adrian King was seated in his office, along with Calibrisi, Josh Brubaker, and George Kratovil, head of the FBI.

Two plasma screens showed live coverage from Boston. A third screen streamed live video feed from the scene, taken by the FBI. Three individuals in bright yellow hazmat suits were preparing the nuclear device for transport out of the area. A fourth screen displayed the White House Briefing Room. The dais was empty, though the room was crowded.

A knock came at the door, then Arden Mason entered. He had a concerned look on his face.

“What is it?” asked King.

Mason handed out manila folders.

“I think you should all see this. It was sent in a few minutes ago.”

The folders contained copies of a police report, filed by the Gloucester, Massachusetts, police department, detailing the purchase of a boat that day by someone whom the owner of the marina found to be “suspicious-looking.”

According to the marina owner, the customer was young and looked Middle Eastern. Perhaps most important, he bought a used Hinckley Talaria, which cost $450,000.

“He paid cash,” said Mason.

“So this is the boat?” asked King, looking at Mason, then Kratovil. “Let’s put out an APB for a green Hinckley Talaria. That would be a pretty good start to the weekend, first we stop the bomb, then we catch the terrorists.”

“President Dellenbaugh is about to go live,” said Brubaker. “I think we should hand him a note before he goes on. If he can mention the precise boat we’re looking for, my guess is we’ll find it pretty quickly.”

Calibrisi’s cell phone vibrated.

“Calibrisi.”

“It’s Katie.”

“I need to call you back.”

“No. I need to talk to you. It’s about Vargarin. We found something.”

“We found the bomb, Katie. Why don’t you grab whatever you got and we’ll meet over at the Willard. I could use a drink.”

“Wait, you said you found the bomb?” asked Katie.