Three men approached Don and Luke from one side, two from the other side. They drew their weapons. A man held up a badge.

Secret Service, he said.

They put Don on the ground, face first. They took his guns and cuffed him.

What are the charges? Don said.

Where to even begin? the man said. Treason. Domestic terrorism. Murder. Kidnapping. Conspiracy. Those will do for a start.

They cut Lukes wrists free. He massaged his wrists, getting the feeling back in them. Some of those sound like death penalty offenses.

The Secret Service man nodded. They are.

My wife and son have been kidnapped. This man knows where they are.

Luke stared down at Don.

If I were you, he said, Id start talking, and fast.

Chapter 57

7:45 a.m.

United States Naval Observatory - Washington, DC

A black SUV pulled up the circular driveway in front of the Vice Presidents official residence.

The back door opened, and Susan Hopkins stepped out. The Iraqi doctor had set her arm and her wrist in the night. Her face was beyond his abilitieshe had merely put a topical painkiller on the burns so she could sleep.

She had talked to Pierre just fifteen minutes ago, after she was assured it was safe to do so. He had cried, and she almost did, too. She still hadnt talked to the girls.

She walked up the path toward the big white house wearing full body armor under her suit. Chuck Berg walked with her, as did Walter Brenna.

The house was beautiful, and it had never looked more beautiful than it did this morning. She loved that house. It had been her residence for the past five years.

They entered the foyer.

About a dozen men in Army dress blues and business suits stared at them as they came in. She recognized a few of the men. They were Secret Service agents. All Ryans people.

They stared at her as if they had seen a ghost. One of the men shook hands with Chuck Berg. A low murmur went through the crowd.

Can I help you? a man in Army dress said.

Im here to speak with William Ryan.

Who may I say is calling?

My name is Susan Hopkins, and Im the President of the United States.

More people came into the foyer. Many of them were tall men in blue suits, with guns strapped under their jackets. A small woman in a maids uniform walked in. Susan recognized her. Her name was Esmeralda, but people called her Esa, and she had worked in this house for more than twenty years. She seemed puzzled. She looked at Susan as if Susan were one of those Catholic miracles that believers sometimes flocked to. She could have been a weeping Virgin Mary in the sheer face of a stone cliff.

Mrs. Hopkins? Esa said. Youre alive.