The Lincoln Memorial is constructed of thirty-six columns—the number of states in the Union at the time of Lincoln’s death in 1865. Situated within the massive enclosure is sculptor Daniel Chester French’s giant stone-carving honoring the sixteenth president of the United States.

Ennis Chaney, the forty-sixth president of the United States, listens to Rabbi Steinberg’s opening invocation as he looks out upon a vast sea of bodies gathered around the Memorial and the park’s long rectangular reflecting pool. Network hover-cams dot the gray winter sky, each suspended in its preapproved flight pattern. Security cams dart in and about, scanning the crowd, who have already been searched for weapons. Congressmen and visiting dignitaries are seated along the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Several dab at their eyes, though few are actually crying.

Seated on one side of the former president is President Marion Rallo. Jacob Gabriel is on Chaney’s left side, the white-haired teen wearing a black suit and tie and dark, tinted, wraparound shades.

Concealed in an opaque envelope in the teen’s left hand is a photo of former secretary of state Pierre Borgia.

The crowd bows their heads as Rabbi Steinberg completes the invocation with a prayer.

At the east end of the park, Pierre Robert Borgia, dressed in a black SWAT team uniform, enters the Washington Monument. He flashes his false identification badge to the two armed guards, then allows them to scan his new false eye and fake retinal implant.

‘You’re clear to go on up, sir.’

‘Thank you.’

Concealed within Borgia’s backpack is the Barrett M101-A .50-caliber Browning sniper rifle and bipod. Waving to the guards, he takes the elevator up to the observation deck, which is to remain closed until after the ceremony.

*

Ennis Chaney follows President Rallo at the podium. A harsh winter’s wind causes him to shiver, despite the heavy lining of his dress coat and undergarments. He touches his right ear, repositioning the dime-sized communication device.

‘Distinguished guests, members of Congress, my fellow Americans, my fellow citizens of the world: It’s not easy to have faith. It’s not easy in this, the twenty-first century, nor was it easy in the first century, when our ancient ancestors looked up at the stars and wondered, “Where do we come from? What is this life all about?”’

Chaney’s eyes are dancing now, moving to the rhythm of his words.

‘We need faith. Faith that is not predicated on fantasy. And yet we, as educated and sophisticated caring souls, must rely on faith to get us through times of confusion, times of pain and suffering …’

Borgia exits the elevator and steps out onto the observation level. He passes the bronze replica of George Washington and heads for the west windows facing the Lincoln Memorial.

Removes the glass cutter. Adheres it to the thick pane using the twin suction cups. Sets the automated device for an eight-inch circular cut.