Bert Navarro, director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, looked out at the sea of white that greeted him as he prepared to exit the Hoover Building, where he’d been a virtual prisoner, along with all the other agents in the building, since the snow started falling twenty-four hours ago.

He adjusted his aviator glasses against the blinding whiteness that surrounded him. He hated being out and about with a day’s worth of beard, his clothes rumpled, his white shirt less than pristine. Considering the circumstances, he decided not to give his appearance a second thought.

Normally, he had nerves of steel, was great under pressure, and demonstrated clear thinking whatever the situation. This storm, though, with the power outages and resultant loss of communication with the outside world, had thrown him for a loop. He was worried about the vigilantes, especially Kathryn, and he was more than a little concerned about Jack and the others. He consoled himself with the fact that Jack was good at improvising, and he had Killer Harry on his team. Robinson and Espinosa always came through in the clench, so he shelved his concern for his friends. He had done what he could and hoped the others were doing the same thing.

Until the storm, Bert hadn’t realized how much he depended on his cell phone to communicate with the outside world. He’d always taken power and convenience for granted, something he would never do again. Candles, flash-lights that depended on batteries simply didn’t do the job in his line of work.

Bert actually grinned when he heard his cell chirp inside his pocket. Hoping it was Kathryn, or possibly Charles or Jack, kept the grin on his face until he realized one of his least favorite people was on the other end of the line. He growled a greeting of sorts and waited for Mark Paterno, the head of the Secret Service detail at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, to state his case. For all the good it was going to do him. Bert pressed a button on his special cell that would allow him to record the conversation. It was a given that Paterno was doing the same thing.

Bert decided to wait out the agent. Finally he said, “You called me, remember. So what is it you want, Paterno?”

“It’s not what I want, Mr. Director. It’s what the president wants.”

“Then have the president call me.” Bert clicked off the cell and counted, one-two-three. He clicked it on and waited again. “Don’t ever hang up on me again, you asshole.” Bert snapped the phone shut and put it on vibrating mode.