“We are developing intelligence along several lines. The roommate, Rita Chadwick, is still in CIA custody, and is cooperating. Her family is insisting she be released pending the arrival of a legal team from New York. We told them no. The lead kidnapper has been identified as Ahmet Kaya of Istanbul, twenty-one years old. It is clear that this is an alias, and we are tracking—”

“Richard!”

There was not a sound in the room. The President of the United States was beginning to shout. In a moment, he might throw one of his trademark temper tantrums.

No. He took a deep breath. He wasn’t going to do that.

He spoke in an even, level tone.

“Tell me what you have,” he said. “Not what you are developing.”

Stark nodded. He took his glasses off. He didn’t need to look at the papers in his hand. “Okay, David. Your daughter was kidnapped, as you know. Our intelligence suggests that she was taken from Geneva by car, then was loaded onto a boat, which crossed Lake Geneva into France without passing through any border control. We are searching satellite footage to confirm this, though it may be difficult to confirm if the boat was small enough, and operated without lights. After the boat landed, we believe she was taken into the French countryside.”

David suddenly felt very subdued.

“And then?” he said.

General Stark shook his head. “We have no idea.”

“You don’t know where my daughter is?”

“I’m going to be honest with you, David. This happened hours ago. It was clearly planned well ahead of time, and they got a sizeable head start on us. If they made it into France—and we believe they did—and then reached one of the many small airfields in that region…”

President Barrett wanted to cover his ears against the words he knew must come next.

“They could have taken her anywhere.”

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

May 8

6:35 a.m. Arabian Standard Time (10:35 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time, May 7)

The Embassy of the United States in Iraq (aka the Republican Palace)

The International Zone (aka the Green Zone)

Karkh District

Baghdad, Iraq

In the night, he had waited for an attack.

He was lying on a cot, in a gray Go Army T-shirt and boxers, in a sweltering office, surrounded by other people doing more or less the same. No air conditioning, no air at all. He had noise-canceling foam plugs in his ears, and a strapped eyeshade covering his face. The eyeshade was a good one—not too tight, and it left him no peripheral vision at all. He was in a world of total darkness, exactly where he wanted to be.

During the early hours, there had been a sudden flurry of movement, people coming and going, people talking in hushed tones.