But that wouldn't happen. Qati would not allow it. There was both the question of security, and the more important consideration that Qati thought himself a dying man, and dying men were not known for their patience.

And would it work in any case? How well did the Americans guard the areas where the President's presence was predictable well in advance? Were their radiological sensors in the area?

You'd put them there, wouldn't you.

Only one chance. You'll never be able to repeat this.

At least one week's advance notice, or you'll never achieve anything beyond mass-murder.

Must be a place without the likely presence of radiological sensors. That eliminated Washington.

Bock started walking away from the black iron fence. His face did not betray the anger he felt.

"Back to the hotel?" Russell asked.

"Yes, why not?" Both men were still tired from their traveling anyway.

"Good, wanted to catch the ballgame. You know, that's about the only thing Fowler and I see eye to eye on"

"Humph? What's that?"

"Football." Russell laughed. "You know? Football. Okay, I'll teach it t'ya."

Fifteen minutes later, they were in their rooms. Russell switched the TV to the local NEC channel.

"That was some drive, Tim. The Vikings had to convert six third downs, and two of them required measurements."

"And one was a bad spot," President Fowler said.

"Red didn't think so." Talbot chuckled.

"They're holding Tony Wills to barely three yards a carry, and one of those was his twenty-yard break on the reverse that caught the Chargers napping."

"A lot of work for three points, Tim, but they did get the three."

"And now the Chargers get their chance at offense. The Vikings defense is a little iffy, with two of their starters out with minor injuries. I bet they're sorry to miss this one."

The Chargers' quarterback took his first snap, faded back five steps and hurled the ball towards his flanker, slanting across the middle, but a hand tipped the ball, and it ended up in the surprised face of the Vikings' free safety, who pulled it in and fell at the forty.

Bock found the game exciting in a distant sort of way, but almost totally incomprehensible. Russell tried to explain, but it didn't really help very much. Gunther consoled himself with a beer, stretching out on the bed while his mind rolled over what he'd seen. Bock knew what he wanted his plan to accomplish, but the exact details - especially here in America - were looking harder than expected. If only -

"What was that they said?"

"The Secretary of Defense," Russell answered.

"A joke?"

Marvin turned. "Sort of a joke. That's what they call the middle linebacker, Maxim Bradley, from the University of Alabama. But the real one owns the team. Dennis Bunker - there he is." The camera showed Bunker in one of the stadium's sky-boxes.

How remarkable, Bock thought.

"What is this Superbowl they talked about?"

"That's the championship game. They have a playoff series of the most successful teams, and the last one is called the Superbowl."