A dozen men appeared from the pilothouse and a hatch on top of the barge and wildly threw automatic weapons fire at the battered helicopter.

Oil was streaming out of the engine, and the rotor blades were madly vibrating. Pitt reduced the collective pitch to keep the rotor speed from falling too quickly. He saw the instrument panel break into fragments from a storm of bullets. He was fighting a hopeless battle; he couldn't hold on to the sky much longer. The forward motion dropped off and he was losing lateral control.

On the ground behind the levee, Griffin sat on his knees in helpless rage, holding a shattered wrist, watching the helicopter struggle like a great mortally wounded bird. The fuselage was so riddled by holes he couldn't believe anybody onboard was still alive.

He watched the craft slowly die, dragging a long trail of smoke as it faltered and limped upriver, barely clearing a grove of trees along the bank and disappearing from sight.

SANDECKER SAT IN EMMETT'S PRIVATE OFFICE at FBI headquarters and chewed on a cigar stub, his thoughts depleted. Brogan nervously juggled a half-empty cup of coffee that had long since turned cold.

General Metcalf walked in and sat down. "You all look like pallbearers," he said with forced cheerfulness.

"Isn't that what we are?" said Brogan. "As soon as the Senate convicts, all that's left to do is hold the wake."

"I've just come from the Senate reception room," Metcalf said.

"Secretary Oates is buttonholing members of the President's party, trying to persuade them to hold off."

"What are his chances?" asked Sandecker.

"Nil. The Senate is only going through the formality of a trial. Four hours from now, it will all be over."

Brogan shook his head disgustedly. "I hear Moran has Chief justice O'Brien standing by to administer the oath."

"The oily bastard won't waste a second," Emmett muttered.

"Any word from Louisiana?" Metcalf asked.

Emmett gave the general a negative look. "Not for an hour. The last report from my agent in charge of the field office said he was making a sweep of a promising dock site."

"Any concrete reason to believe Margolin is hidden in the delta?"

"Only a stab in the dark by my special projects director," replied Sandecker.

Metcalf looked at Emmett. "What are you doing about the Bougainvilles?"

"I've assigned nearly fifty agents to the case."

"Can you make an arrest?"

"A waste of time. Min Koryo and Lee Tong would be back on the streets in an hour."

"Surely there must be enough evidence."

"Nothing the Attorney General can sink his teeth into. Most of their illegal operations are managed outside our borders in Third World nations that aren't overly friendly toward the United States-"

The phone buzzed.

"Emmett."

"Agent Goodman in communications, sir."

"What is it, Goodman?"

"I have contact with agent Griffin in Louisiana."

"About time," Emmett snapped impatiently. "Put me through."