President Michael Lawrence stood a broad-shouldered six-foot-four. He both looked and sounded presidential. Whatever combination of the three Cs-charisma, charm, and calm-created that impression, Lawrence had them. His longish silver hair was swept back dramatically and his voice still resonated as though he were Mark Antony on the steps of the Roman Senate. But President Lawrence also looked a great deal wearier than he had when he took office. The eyes were puffier, the cheeks more drawn. The hair looked silver because it was more white than gray. That was common among U.S. presidents, though it wasn't just the pressures of the office which aged them tremendously-it was the fact that lives were deeply and permanently affected by every decision they made. It was also the steady flow of early morning and late night crises, the exhausting travel abroad, and what Liz Gordon once described as "the posterity effect": the pressure of wanting to secure a positive review in the history books while pleasing the people you were elected to serve. That was a tremendous emotional and intellectual burden that very few people had to deal with.

The President thanked everyone for coming and sat down. As he poured himself coffee, he offered his condolences to Hood on the death of Martha Mackall. The President commented on the loss of a young and talented diplomat, and said that he had already assigned someone the job of organizing a quiet memorial tribute to her. Hood thanked him. President Lawrence was very good and also very sincere when it came to human touches like that.

Then he turned abruptly to the business at hand. The President was also very good when it came to shifting gears.

"I just got off the phone with the Vice-President and with the Spanish ambassador, Seńor García Abril," the President said. He took a sip of the black coffee. "As some of you know, the situation in Spain is very confused from a military standpoint. The police have been putting down some riots while ignoring others. Carol, you want to quickly address that?"

Lanning nodded. She consulted her notes. "The police and the army have been ignoring riots by Castilians against other groups," she said. "Churches all across the nation are being forced to cope with literally thousands of people coming to them for sanctuary."

"Are they providing it?" Burkow asked.

"They were," she replied, rifling through her papers, "until the crowds became too great in some locations-like Parroquia María Reina in Barcelona and Iglesia del Seńor in Seville. Now they've literally locked the doors and are refusing to admit anyone else. In a few cases the local police have been called in to remove people from churches-a move, I should add, which is being privately denounced by the Vatican although they're going to urge 'restraint and compassion' in a public statement later today."