Lieutenant Colonel Rogers, in mufti of hunter's cap and bush jacket and denims, hands in jacket pockets, stood at the edge of the Furnace Creek airstrip. A sleek eight-passenger private LearFan Special coasted to a stop twenty yards beyond, its two in-line props swishing the air with a diminishing chop-chop-chop. The plane's landing lights were extinguished and its side door opened. Two passengers—a man and a woman—stepped down almost immediately, peering around in the darkness, then approached Rogers.

"The President refuses to see any of us," said the man. Dressed in a recently donned and still disarrayed overcoat, black suit, and a silk shirt, he was very portly, late middle-aged, and completely bald. The woman was slender, in her forties, with large attractive eyes, a narrow jaw, and full lips. She, too, wore an overcoat and beneath that a dark pants suit.

"What does your group plan now?" the woman asked.

Rogers rubbed his jaw reflectively. "My group . . . hasn't fixed its plans yet," he said. "We're not used to this kind of activity."

"Congress and the committees are really on Crocker-man's tail. They may bring him down," the man said. "We still haven't gotten McClennan and Rotterjack to join us. Loyalists to the last." The bulky bald man curled his hp. Loyalty beyond pragmatism was not something he understood. "Even so, it may be too late. Have you talked to the task force?"

"We're going to keep them out of this, as much as possible," Rogers said. "I talked to Gordon, and he even broached this sort of plan to me, but we don't know which of them might have supported his decision covertly."

"Do you have the sleeping bag?" the woman asked.

"No, ma'am."

"Do you know where you'll get it, if the time comes? Oak Ridge is in my district ..."

"We will not get it from civilian sources," Rogers said.

"What about the codes, the complications, the authorization you'll need ... the chain of command?" the woman persisted.

"That's on our end. We'll take care of it. If the time comes."

'They have the smoking gun, goddammit," the man said. "We've already been shot."

"Yes, sir. I read the papers."

"The admiral should know," the man said, with the air of drawing their conversation to a conclusion, "that our group can do no more in a reasonable period of time. If we do bring the President to ground, it will take months. We can't stop or delay the swearing in. The recommendation from the House Judiciary Committee will take weeks. The trial could drag on for half a year beyond that. He's going to hold out for at least that long. That puts the ball in your court."

Rogers nodded.

"Do you know when you'll act?" the woman asked.

"We don't even know if we can, or whether we will if we can. It's all up in the air."