"I'm not sure why you're saying that," said Gradecki who did not want to hear it in the least. "The motive is very clear."

I thought of the Book of Hand and of how hard it was for the uninitiated to understand what a man like its author was capable of doing. I looked at the attorney general as we flew over rows of old gray tankers and transport ships, known as the Navy's Dead Fleet. They were parked in the James, and from a distance it looked like Virginia was under siege, and in a way, it was.

"I don't believe I've ever seen that," she muttered in amazement as she looked down.

"Weil, you should have," Senator Lord retorted. "You Democrats are responsible for the decommissioning of half the Navy's fleet. In fact, we don't have room to park them.

They're scattered here and there, ghosts of their former selves and not worth a tinker's damn if we need seaworth vessels fast. By the time you'd get one of those old tubs going, the Persian Gulf would be as long past as that other war they fought around here."

"Frank, you've made your point," she crisply said. "I believe we have other matters to attend to this morning."

Wesley had put on a set of headphones so he could talk to the pilots. He asked for an update and then listened for a long time as he stared out at Jamestown and its ferry.

When he got off the radio his face was anxious.

"We'll be at Old Point in several minutes. The terrorists still have refused contact and we don't know how many casualties might be inside."

"I hear more helicopters," I said.

We were silent, and then the sound of thudding blades was unmistakable. Wesley got back on the air.

"Listen, dammit, the FAA was supposed to restrict this airspace." He paused as he listened. "Absolutely not. No one else has clearance within a mile-" Interrupted, he listened again. "Right, right." He got angrier. "Christ," he exclaimed as the noise got louder.

Two Hueys and two Black Hawks loudly rumbled past, and Wesley unfastened his seat belt as if he were going somewhere. Furious, he rose and moved to the other side of the cabin, looking out windows.

He had his back to the senator when he said with controlled fury, "Sir, you should not have called in the National Guard. We have a very delicate operation in place and cannot-let me repeat-cannot afford any sort of interference in either our planning or our airspace. And let me remind you the jurisdiction here is police, not military.

This is the United States- Senator Lord cut in, "I did not call them, and we're in complete agreement." -Then who did?" asked Gradecki, who was Wesley's ultimate boss.

"Probably your governor," Senator Lord said, looking at me, and I knew by his manner that he was enraged, too.

"He would do something stupid like that because all he thinks about is the next election. Patch me into his office, and I mean now."

The senator slipped the headset on and did not care who overheard when he launched in several minutes later.

"For God's sake, Dick, have you lost your mind?" he said to the man who held the Commonwealth's highest office. "No, no, don't even bother telling me any of that ' " he snapped. "You are interfering with what we're doing out here, and if it costs lives you can be assured I'm going to announce who's to blame…"

He fell silent for a moment, and the expression on his face as he listened was scary. Then he made several other salient points as the governor ordered the National Guard back. In fact, their huge helicopters never landed, but suddenly changed formation as they gained altitude. They flew right past Old Point, which just now we could see, its concrete containments rising in the clean blue air.

"I'm very sorry," the senator apologized to us, because he was, above all, a gentleman.

We stared out at scores of police and law enforcement vehicles, ambulances and fire trucks, and flowering satellite dishes and news vans. Dozens of people were outside as if enjoying a lovely, brisk day, and Wesley informed us that where they were congregated was the visitors' center, which was the command post for the outer perimeter.

"As you can see," he explained, "it's no closer than half a mile away from the plant and the main building, which is there." He pointed.

"The main building is where the control room is?" I asked.

"Right. That three-story beige brick building. That's where they are, at least most of them, we think, including the hostages."

"Well, it's where they'd have to be if they planned on doing anything with the reactors, like shutting them down, which we know they've already done," Senator Lord remarked.

"And then what?" the attorney general asked.

"There are backup generators, so no one's going to lose electricity. And the plant itself has an emergency power supply," Lord said, and he was known for being an ardent advocate of nuclear energy.

Wide waterways ran on the plant's two sides, one leading from the James, the other to a man-made lake nearby. There were acres of transformers and power lines, and parking lots with many cars, belonging to hostages and the people who had arrived to help. There did not seem an easy way to access the main building without being seen, for any nuclear power plant is designed with the most stringent security in mind. The point was to keep out everyone not authorized, and unfortunately, that included us. A roof entry, for example, would require cutting holes in metal and concrete, and could not be done without risk of being seen.

I suspected Wesley was thinking about a possible amphibious plan, for HRT divers could enter undetected either the river or the take, and follow a waterway very close to one side of the main building. It looked to me that they could swim within twenty yards of the very door the terrorists had stormed, but how the agents would escape detection once ashore, I could not imagine.

Wesley did not spell out any plan, for the senator and the attorney general were allies, even friends, but they were also politicians. Neither the FBI nor the police needed Washington inserting itself into this mission. What the governor had just done was bad enough.

"Now if you'll notice the large white RV that's close to the main building," Wesley said, "that's our inner perimeter command post."

"I thought that belonged to a news crew," the attorney general commented.

"That's where we try to establish a relationship with Mr. Hand and his Merry Band."

"How?"

"For starters, I want to talk with them," Wesley said.

"No one's talked to them yet?" the senator asked.

"So far," he said, "they don't seem interested in us."

The Bell 222 slowly made its loud descent as news crews assembled near a helipad across the road from the visitors' center. We grabbed briefcases and bags and disembarked in the strong wind of flying blades. Wesley and I walked swiftly and in silence. I glanced back only once and saw Senator Lord surrounded by microphones while our nation's most powerful lawyer delivered a string of emotional quotes.

We walked inside the visitors' center with its many displays intended for schoolchildren and the curious. But now the entire area was divided by local and state police. They were drinking sodas, eating fast food and snacks near plats and maps on easels, and I could not help but wonder how much of a difference any of us could make.

"Where's your outpost?" Wesley asked me.

"It should be with the squads. I think I spotted our refrigerator truck from the air."

His eyes were roaming around. They stopped on the men's room door opening and swinging shut. Marino walked out, hitching up his pants again. I had not expected to see him here. If for no other reason, I would have thought his fear of radiation would have kept him home.

"I'm getting coffee," Wesley said. "Anybody?"