The president was seated at his desk when Nicholas Scanlon entered the Oval Office three minutes later, accompanied by White House Chief of Staff William Burns and National Security Advisor Cyrus Mansfield.

“Why the long faces, gentlemen?” the president asked.

“There’s been a leak, Mr. President,” Scanlon said. “NBC knows who’s holding Elizabeth.”

The president closed his eyes in frustration. For more than a week now, he had been walking a fine line, attempting to show appropriate concern in public for the fate of his friend’s daughter while at the same time making it clear to the terrorists that they had not managed to incapacitate the most powerful man on the planet. Only those closest to the president knew the physical and emotional toll the kidnapping had taken on him.

“What do you suggest, Nick?”

“Taking the bull by the horns, sir. I think it would be better for the country and the rest of the world to hear the news from your mouth than Melissa Stewart’s.”

“How long do we have before she goes on the air with it?”

Scanlon looked at his watch. “Nine minutes, sir.”

The president looked from his press secretary to his national security advisor. “I need to know whether I’m going to be placing any sensitive operations in jeopardy if I go public now. Get the director of the CIA on the line. The secretary of state, too.”

“Yes, sir.”

The president looked at Scanlon again. “Assuming no one has any objections, where would you like to do this?”

“The Briefing Room feels appropriate to me.”

“No questions, though.”

“I’ll make that clear to the reporters beforehand.”

“How are you going to handle Melissa Stewart?”

“We’ll have to promise her something,” Scanlon said. “Something big.”

“Couldn’t we just appeal to her sense of decency and patriotism?”

“We’re talking about Melissa Stewart, Mr. President. I’m not sure she has a pulse, let alone a sense of patriotism.”

The president exhaled heavily. “You can tell her the first interview I do after this is over will be with NBC News. That should make her happy.”

“That’s going to cause me problems elsewhere in the press room, sir.”

“I’m afraid that those are your problems, Nick, not mine.”

“Would you like me to draft a statement for you, sir?”

The president shook his head. “This is one I can handle on my own.”

Melissa Stewart was pulling on her overcoat and preparing to head for the North Lawn when the telephone in her booth rang.

“Cutting it close, don’t you think?”

“I’m sorry, Melissa. For a moment I forgot that you’re the center of the universe.”

“I’m late for an important live shot, Nick.”

“Cancel it.”

“What have you got for me?”