MARK INGERSOL stood with his arms dangling, sweating as though it were a sauna and not a situation room he and Friberg had retreated to.

They had received a third message.

A thousand books lined oak bookcases, wall to wall, surrounding the long conference table. But no amount of book learning would help them now. The crisis had gone critical and Friberg should have gone ballistic. The tall leather chairs around the wood table should be occupied with a dozen high-ranking strategists. Instead, there sat only one man and he slouched, numb, barely able to move.

“Do we tell him or not?” Ingersol asked.

Friberg lifted his eyes, looking more like a puppy than top shop man. “Tell who?”

“The president! You can’t just sit on something like this. That madman down there has given us thirty minutes—”

“I know what that madman down there has given us. I’m just not sure I believe it.”

“Believe it? If you don’t mind me pointing out the obvious, we’re way past believing here. We’ll find out soon enough whether or not they have the bomb. In the meantime, we should be briefing the president.”

“I’ve been in this game long enough to know what is obvious, Ingersol. What’s obvious here is that you and I are in a hot spot if this idiot has the bomb. You think there’s anything anyone can do about this in thirty minutes? How about putting out an all-points bulletin, flood the news channels with the message—‘Get out, ’cause a nuclear bomb is about to explode down the street from you!’ We’d lose more to the panic than to the bomb.”

“Either way, the president should know.”

“The president is the last person who should know!” Friberg had come back to life. His face twisted in a red snarl. “The less he knows the better. If there is a detonation, we have a problem. Agreed. But we don’t need to draw attention to the issue now. There’s been a threat and we’re handling it—that’s all he needs to know. I updated him less than three hours ago. We’re proceeding systematically. Just a routine threat, that’s all. Get it through your head.”

Ingersol blinked and took a step back. “And how will it look if this thing goes off and it’s discovered that you withheld information?”

“We, Ingersol. We withheld information. And it won’t be discovered—that’s the whole point. Not if you pull yourself together here.”

A chill descended Ingersol’s spine. “We should at least pull the Rangers back. Sending them in now is crazy. Abdullah will detonate!”

The director nodded. “You’re right. Pull them back immediately.”

Ingersol lingered a moment, thinking he should say something else. Something that would diffuse this madness, make his heart ease up. But his mind had gone gray.