“You have no evidence he was even there, Ray! This is your hornet’s nest.”

“With all due respect, sir, my hornet’s nest is your hornet’s nest. I suggest you consult with legal and find a charge against Davis you can keep in your hip pocket. If we need to play that card, we’ll have it. Meantime, we need a wounded FBI guy on TV looking all heroic and talking about how we’re putting the full-court press on the terrorists in our midst.”

The director of the FBI sighed in resignation. Dahlgren could tell that he’d bought himself some time. However grudgingly, Wilson wouldn’t yet hang him out to dry. “Find Verhoven, Ray.”

“I will, sir.”

“You goddamn well better.”

23

RAYBURN HOUSE OFFICE BUILDING, WASHINGTON, DC

I want to close my presentation,” Kate Murphy said, “by thanking this commission for providing a real opportunity to bridge some gaps. I don’t like to accuse my fellow commission members from the oil industry of being shortsighted, but oil is a finite resource. Even if we drilled anywhere and everywhere, it wouldn’t solve our energy problems in the long term. But sticking our heads in the sand and pretending we can convert the United States to solar and wind in the next five years isn’t realistic either. Somewhere in the middle there’s a sane course of action that will help us move from prostrate dependence on fossil fuels to a world powered by cleaner, safer renewables. That course needs to be hardheaded and practical, guided not by ideology, but by a clear and carefully considered long-term strategy. Thank you.”

During the break Kate was approached by Tom Fitzgerald, the secretary of the interior, who said, “That was a heck of a speech.”

Kate looked up from her papers, a flicker of paranoia in her eyes. She had already spent enough time in Washington not to trust that sort of statement.

She said, “Look, I know I prinddddddsize=obably alienated everybody. But this whole commission felt like a Kabuki drama. The guys from the oil companies stand up and stake out one ridiculous, revenue-preserving position after another, and then the guys from the environmental side spin some fantasy about how everybody in America could be driving to work next year in solar-powered cars if we just wanted it bad enough.” She felt her face heating up and her voice rising defensively. “I’m sorry. As you can see, I’ve been a little frustrated.”

The secretary smiled. He was a handsome, smooth-faced man whose background was in the electric utility business. In her experience it was a sector that tended to attract the dimmer bulbs in the energy industry, but so far she had been impressed with him.

“Two things,” Tom Fitzgerald said. “First, I’m going to speak to Senator Bainbridge and make sure that you are the one to write the final draft of this commission’s report. I assume you’re okay with that.”

“Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. I’ve already spoken to President Wade about your work here, and he agrees. Although he did point out that he and your fiancé have had a contentious history.”

“Gideon’s brother was scapegoated by a bunch of politicians after he sacrificed everything for this country, and when Gideon defended him, the president sold him out.” Kate tried to keep her voice firm, but not strident. “He didn’t have the backbone to stand up to the media and do the right thing.”

“Your fiancé got caught in the crossfire. That’s an occupational hazard if you work in Washington. But say what you will about President Wade: He’s been consistent in his belief that we’ve punted on energy issues for a long time, and it’s time to develop a sane, realistic long-term policy on energy. He had hoped that this commission would be a source of unifying ideas, rather than the squabble fest that it has turned out to be. You seem to be the only person in this room speaking the president’s language.”

Kate blinked. “That’s . . . unexpected.”

“The president believes that our national security policy has been defined by energy concerns for way too long. Energy is a national security issue.”

“I agree.”

Tom Fitzgerald slid into the seat next to her and leaned confidentially toward her. “I would imagine that some pretty harsh words have been passed back and forth in your household on the subject of Erik Wade. But I think you two are on the same page on this issue. Could you put aside your fiancé’s difficulties with the president and join this administration?”

“In what capacity?”

“Probably something at an undersecretary level. I have several unfilled positions that I need help with.”

“I’m flattered.” After spending a decade tromping around on oil rigs, Kate didn’t feel particularly suited for normal work and was still sorting through her feelings about having a desk job. “I’d like to think about it for a few days.”

“Of course. Terrific.” Fitzgerald stood. “There were two things pu Am> things I wanted to ask you. The second is this—the president would like to put a face on this committee, so to speak. He’d like that face to be you.”

“Meaning what?”

“Tomorrow at the State of the Union address, the president will be making a major energy policy announcement. He’d like to tip his hat to the commission as part of that announcement. He’d like you to be there representing the commission.”

“Are you inviting me to the State of the Union address?”

“Unless you’ve got a previous engagement.”

For a moment, all she could think was that she didn’t have anything to wear. “Can I come in a pair of jeans and a hard hat?”

Tom Fitzgerald laughed, sincerely charmed. “Absolutely not.”

Kate left the hearing room on a cloud of air. It felt good to be wanted, even if she was uncertain about whether the job was right for her. But her mood quickly changed when she passed a bank of televisions tuned to CNN. On the screen was a live report about a standoff between the FBI and a militia group in West Virginia. Several people were dead, and more wounded.

Gideon.

She looked down and saw that she had missed a telephone call from a number she didn’t recognize. When she checked voice mail, there was a terse message from Gideon saying that he was okay, and whatever she might hear about him was not the truth. She tried calling him three more times, but he didn’t answer.

Where was he? What had happened? It was no comfort to her to learn that he had been right. What good was being right if he was in danger?

24

POCATELLO, IDAHO

Collier pulled the Caterpillar D4 bulldozer to a halt and switched off the engine. He was still vibrating from the experience. Half a day ago, there had been seven living, breathing human beings in the building behind him—working, dreaming, going about their business. Now they were all buried three feet beneath the frozen ground.

And he was responsible.

A sensation of power unlike anything he’d ever felt before filled him like a rising tide.

He took a moment to luxuriate in the feeling. But then he forced himself to hop off the tractor and move on. He knew this was only a prelude. In a matter of days he would be responsible for what would probably go down in history as the most famous mass murder ever on American soil. But it wouldn’t just be some aimless crazy act. It would be clean and beautiful, like the arrow of a Japanese archer, pure in its intent, just in its design, unspoiled in its execution.

Gideon's War and Hard Target

The world was a mess, and if the politicians weren’t...

What people would never appreciate, though, was how truly difficult, nearly impossible, it had been to pull off. So many details, so many tiny things to sort out, think through, nail down. Even a simple thing like burying a bunch of people in northern Idaho, when the temperature had been below freezing for five and a half weeks. The dirt was frozen six inches down into the ground. Even with a tractor, it took a long time to dig a large enough hole. And then he had to drag and push the bodies, now stiff with rigor mortis. And when he pushed the dirt over the bodies, the bodies rolled around and didn’t want to settle beneath the earth.