What Ali Nassar said was true. It was the American government all along.

A strange feeling of heat began to radiate along Lukes spine. It went to the top of his head and down along his shoulders and arms. He looked at his hands, half expecting them to burst into flames. A wave of nausea passed through him. For a second, he thought he might vomit. He didnt want to do that, not here, not in front of Paul.

How can I stop it? Luke said.

Paul shook his head. My friend, you dont stop Operation Red Box. You get the hell out of the way. This isnt your fight, Luke. If you try to make it yours, you will fail. You will fail in a way that will probably feel spectacular while its happening, but in the end will be much closer to pathetic.

Then give me enough to do that.

Paul grunted, and then laughed. Youre a fool. You have no knack for self-preservation. Youre like one of these Japanese kamikaze pilots from World War II, flying an airplane full of bombs into the side of an aircraft carrier. Except in this case, the plane youre flying is a bathtub toy.

The old man paused, thinking for a moment, seeing Luke would not back down.

Okay. Youre looking for a way to die? Get in touch with a man named David Delliger. Hes the Secretary of Defense, in case you dont know. He was roommates with the President at Yale. Theres no way hell be in on the plot, but he will be very, very close to it, probably without knowing. The pieces will only become clear to him after the fact, but hell see them. Maybe he has no knack for self-preservation either. If so, the two of you will make quite a pair.

What about the President? Luke said.

Paul shrugged. What about him?

Hes safe now, isnt he? Luke pressed. Hes ten stories underground.

Paul smiled. I need to be going. Its getting late for an old man to be out and about. These parks can be dangerous at night.

The President is safe, Luke insisted, grabbing his arm, frantic, needing to hear him say it.

Paul slowly shook his head and removed Lukes hand.

You dont understand, Paul replied, his voice hoarse, before turning around, drifting back into the silver and gray fog. If this is truly Operation Red Box, then the President is already dead.

Chapter 35

8:53 p.m.

Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center - Bluemont, Virginia

An earnest young man poked his head into the room.

Mr. President? We are going live in seven minutes. Wed like to have you on the set two minutes early.