Ryan looked at the Science and Technology officer. "Tell me what you think."

"Savannah River, they've had problems there, like a thousand pound MUF."

"Muff?"

"M-U-F, acronym: material unaccounted for. Lost material."

"Terrorists," Ryan said positively.

"Starting to make sense," S&T agreed.

"Oh, God, and he won't listen to me now!" Well, there was still Durling.

"That's hard to believe," the Vice President said.

"Sir, it's hard data, checked by the NEST team at Rocky Flats, it's hard, scientific data. It may sound nuts, but it's objective fact." I hope, oh God, I hope. Durling could hear Ryan thinking it. "Sir, this was definitely not a Russian weapon - that's the important thing. We are certain it was not a Soviet weapon. Tell the President right now!"

"Will do." Durling nodded to the Air Force communications sergeant.

"Yes, Roger," the President said.

"Sir, we've just received some important information."

"What now?" the President sounded tired unto death.

"It came to me from CIA, but they got it from the FBI. The NEST team has identified the bomb material as definitely not Russian. They think the bomb material is American."

"That is crazy!" Borstein announced. "We do not have any missing weapons. We take damned good care of those things!"

"Roger, you got that from Ryan, didn't you?"

"Yes, Bob, I did."

Durling heard a long sigh over the line. "Thank you."

The Vice President's hand trembled as he lifted the other phone. "He didn't buy it."

"He's got to buy it, sir, it's true."

"I'm out of ideas here. You were right, Jack, he's not listening to anyone now."

"New Hot Line message, sir."

PRESIDENT NARMONOV:

YOU ACCUSE ME OF IRRATIONALITY. WE HAVE TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND DEAD, AN ATTACK ON OUR FORCES IN BERLIN, AN ATTACK ON OUR NAVY BOTH IN THE MEDITERRANEAN AND THE PACIFIC

"He's close to doing it. God damn it! We've got the information he needs to stop this thing in its tracks and-"

"I'm out of ideas," Durling said over the speaker-phone. "These damned messages over the Hot Line are making things worse instead of better, and -"

"That seems to be the key problem, doesn't it?" Ryan looked up. "Ben, you good driving in snow?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Come on!" Ryan raced out of the room. They caught an elevator to the first floor, Jack ran into the security room. "Keys to the car!"

"Here, sir!" A very frightened young man tossed them over. The CIA's security force kept its vehicles just off the VIP lot. The blue GMC Jimmy four-wheel-drive was unlocked.

"Where are we going?" Goodley asked as he got into the driver's-side door.

"Pentagon, River entrance, and get us there fast."

"What was it?" The torpedo had circled something, but not exploded, and finally ran out of fuel.

"Not enough mass to set off the magnetic exploder - too small to hit directly must have been a decoy," Dubinin said. "Where's that original intercept?" A sailor handed it over. " 'Propeller disabled by collision,' God damn it! We were tracking a bad power plant, not a damaged screw." The captain smashed his fist down on the chart table hard enough to draw blood. "Come north, go active!"