“And for the record,” Chang added, “there was no heavy water. The copper bracelet referred to the organization.”

“Yeah,” Middleton said. “I figured that one out too.”

He saw Chernayev approaching, a couple of his security guys with him. Looked like this was working out as a victory after all.

“Hacked into Bicchu, that search engine?” Chang said. “And you’ll never guess who it’s owned by—Hey!”

Middleton turned. He saw Wiki Chang on the ground, rubbing his jaw.

Chernayev had taken the backpack jammer from him. Walked over to Archer, flicking switches on the handset as he went.

“Owned by one of my corporations,” Chernayev said. He dumped the jammer by Archer’s feet and took the detonator from him. As a dozen heavily armed BlueWatch security men pushed onto the grounds, he glanced down at the younger man. “This should work now. Almost time...”

“And I’ll see your hands please, Colonel Middleton.”

POTUS was being ushered to his helicopter. A hundred and fifty yard dash. The marines were at the LZ now, a wall of 100 percent pure American muscle to keep the crowd away from the raised landing area. The gun-ships were close in too, their immense sound adding to the message to those below: this is not the way out. The press corps kept their cameras trained on the LZ, waiting for the money-shot of a gasmask-wearing president to headline the news services.

Middleton’s world was spinning.

Chernayev.

He’d set this up. He built this dam to attract a U.S. official. He set it all up . . .

He lied about the communiqué from the State Department—and, of course, never sent the email to Charley. And the reference to Tampa on Balan’s computer—it wasn’t one of Devras Sikari’s companies, but Chernayev’s. Sikari was probably worried about what it meant and was going to send Balan or someone there to check it out.

And Chernayev was responsible for the death of his dear friend and colleague, Lespasse.

“Originally, I was going to choke Pakistan into being more submissive to what I could provide them,” he said, his eyes drifting from Middleton to the scene of the president’s detail moving through thick CS smoke. “I’m afraid I’m not that patient.”

“We knew some of your Volunteers would make it here,” Archer said. “In fact, we were always going to have you here, Harold, dead or alive.”

“Oh?” Middleton felt Connie brush close against him. He made sure he kept his hands out front, in view of Chernayev, who had a silenced pistol pointed at them, concealed under his jacket.

“It was clear you’d come to me.” Chernayev said. He motioned for Archer to see that the president was almost in the kill zone. The tear gas was dispersing, blowing to the south, chasing at the heels of the evacuating crowd.