The man beside him, Commander Rudi Gunn, wore a rumpled business suit. He hunched his shoulders and rubbed his hands briskly. The April nights in Washington could be far too chilly for comfort. A graduate of the Naval Academy, Gunn had served in submarines until he became the admiral's chief aide. When Sandecker resigned to form NUMA, Gunn had followed him and was appointed director in charge of operations. He looked across at Sandecker through horn-rimmed glasses, studied the luminescent dial of his watch and then broke the silence.

He spoke in a voice mixed with fatigue and irritation. "Do you have any idea, Admiral, why the President demanded to see us at one o'clock in the morning?"

Sandecker turned his gaze from the passing lights and shook his head. "I haven't a clue. Judging from Morton Laird's tone, it was an invitation we couldn't refuse."

"I'm not aware of any crisis going on," muttered Gunn wearily, "domestic or foreign, that calls for middle-of-the-night secrecy."

"Nor I."

"Does the man ever sleep?"

"Three hours between four and seven A.M., according to my sources inside the White House. Unlike the previous three presidents, who served in Congress and were good friends, this one, a two-term governor of Oklahoma, is almost a total stranger to me. In the short time he's been in office since the former chief executive had a debilitating stroke, this is the first chance we've had to talk."

Gunn glanced over in the darkness. "You never met Dean Cooper Wallace when he was vice president?"

Sandecker shook his head. "From what I'm told, he has no use for NUMA."

The limousine driver turned off Pennsylvania Avenue and circled into the barricaded drive to the White House, stopping at the northwest gate. "Here we are, Admiral," he announced as he came around and opened the rear door.

A uniformed member of the Secret Service checked San-decker's and Gunn's IDs and crossed off their names on a visitors' list. Then they were escorted through the building's entrance and led to the West Wing reception room. The receptionist, an attractive lady in her late thirties with auburn hair tied in an old-fashioned bow, rose and smiled warmly. The sign on her desk read

ROBIN CARR.

"Admiral Sandecker, Commander Gunn, a great pleasure to meet you."

"You work long hours," said Sandecker.

"Fortunately, my time clock ticks in unison with the President's."

"Any chance for a cup of coffee?" asked Gunn.

The smile faded. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid there isn't time." She quickly sat down, picked up a phone and simply said, "The Admiral is here."

Within ten seconds, the new President's chief of staff, Morton Laird, who had replaced the hospitalized former president's right-hand man, Wilbur Hutton, appeared and shook hands. "Thank you for coming, gentlemen. The President will be pleased to see you."