On the third ring, a familiar voice answered. With a hand cupped over the receiver, DuVal said, “Two FBI agents just left my office. They took the file on Benares. Said they’d be back with more questions. What have you got me into?”

“My very dear friend,” answered Tauriq Haddad, “you must not worry. Everything will be taken care of. It’s a very simple matter, I assure you. Meet me in one hour in the parking lot of the Key Bridge Marriott.”

“Okay,” said DuVal, as he scribbled the words, “Parking lot—Key Bridge Marriott.”

Later that afternoon, a Fairfax County deputy sheriff found DuVal’s car parked along a rural road near McLean, Virginia. Inside was the body of the White House personnel director, a shotgun between his legs and his face partially blown off. The medical examiner ruled the death a suicide; there would be no further investigation into the death. However, there was no mention in the examiner’s report of the red welt that encircled DuVal’s neck. But to those who knew India, this was the mark of the Thuggees, followers of Kali, the consort of Shiva. Shiva had claimed another victim.

With the supposed suicide of Percy DuVal, the investigation into the appointment of Benjamin Benares had only one lead—the Secret Service supervisor who was directly responsible for the security check of Benares. He insisted he was following orders relayed to him through Percy DuVal directly from the president of the United States. He passed a polygraph exam and convinced his superiors he was telling the truth; but his transfer to a low-security farm-belt office job effectively ended his career.

The FBI investigation was quick, but it seemed to satisfy the nation’s curiosity, and the national media quickly turned to issues far more pressing.

AT 8:00 O’CLOCK THURSDAY evening, President Mark Beaulieu was to make his first television address from the podium of the House of Representatives to a joint session of the Congress. His address was to be televised to the nation. Immediately after being sworn in, he had fired the White House director of communications. Then he fired the speechwriters, the entire public affairs office, and the entire press office. His congressional staff had not yet gotten settled into the White House, so Mark Beaulieu did something unusual. He wrote his own speech and handled his own arrangements for radio and television coverage. At the same time he made sure that what he had to say would be taped and retransmitted to the rest of the world. It was clear that he planned not merely a message to the American people but a global address that would provide a rallying point for the wounded, the downtrodden, and the dispossessed of the world, along with a new vision for global unity.

As he began his address, an almost supernatural intensity came over his features. His charisma was thrilling. His logic was flawless. His words were electric.