"Now," Karim said to Hakim as he put a gentle hand on his shoulder, "as you can see, my men are ready. Their martyr vests are all but done."

The men had spent much of morning breaking the C-4 into smaller blocks and pressing ball bearings into the malleable explosive and then placing the blocks in vests that they would put on, and if everything went according to plan, die in.

"Are you sure," Hakim asked with great concern, "about moving things up?"

"Yes."

"I'm afraid by rushing we will make a mistake. A mistake that will cost us."

"No," Karim shook his head. "My men are ready. This is the right decision. Waiting is risky. This... this is seizing an opportunity."

"What about the traffic cameras?"

"I was hoping you could call your man."

"Right now?" Hakim asked as he computed the time difference between the Netherlands and Washington.

"Yes."

"I can try," Hakim said without much confidence. This had been arranged months in advance.

"You will succeed, my friend. You have always succeeded. That is why, despite your lack of faith, I have allowed you to be part of this great battle."

"And if he can't crash the system?"

"We will proceed with or without him. Is my message ready?"

He was referring to the prerecorded message that would be launched across the World Wide Web. A message that proclaimed Karim to be the Lion of al-Qaeda. When Zawahiri saw it, he was likely to have a heart attack. "Your message is ready. He should have no problem releasing it."

"Good."

"If he cannot crash the system" - Hakim leaned in so none of the others could hear - "you and I need to leave the city this afternoon."

"Check with your man first," Karim said casually. "Allah is on our side. I am confident you will come through for me once more. I have not come all this way to complete half the mission. We will succeed, or we will all die. Am I clear?"

"So you have changed your mind?" Hakim asked quietly.

"I have given myself up to my destiny. If Allah wants me to survive, I will survive."

What about me? Hakim wanted to ask, but he could see that his friend's conversion to religious fanatic was finally complete. Hakim had seen the look in the eyes of far too many men in Afghanistan. Men that would stand up under withering American fire, convinced Allah would shroud them in protection. As Hakim looked into the wide, believing eyes of his friend he began for the first time to question why he was involved in this. His participation had been purely logistical. He would help get them into the country. He was to obtain separate financing, and to recruit the hackers that could help them crash the thousands of cameras that monitored the streets of Washington. And lastly he was to get himself and Karim back out of the country. All of this talk of Allah and destiny was suddenly beginning to sound like a suicide mission. Hakim wanted to ask, but he could see that his friend's conversion to religious fanatic was finally complete. Hakim had seen the look in the eyes of far too many men in Afghanistan. Men that would stand up under withering American fire, convinced Allah would shroud them in protection. As Hakim looked into the wide, believing eyes of his friend he began for the first time to question why he was involved in this. His participation had been purely logistical. He would help get them into the country. He was to obtain separate financing, and to recruit the hackers that could help them crash the thousands of cameras that monitored the streets of Washington. And lastly he was to get himself and Karim back out of the country. All of this talk of Allah and destiny was suddenly beginning to sound like a suicide mission.

CHAPTER 56

ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA.

NASH hit the key fob, and the side door of the minivan popped out and rolled back on its own. He sat just behind the two front seats in the middle and then dumped King Charlie into his plush car seat. After wrestling with all the different straps, buckles, and clips, he started the van and began backing out of the driveway with his little, cursing one-year-old yapping it up in the backseat. The National Counterterrorism Center was less than five miles away. Nash had time for one, maybe two phone calls at the most. He thought of calling Rapp or Ridley, but there was no sense in alarming them at this point. They had enough on their minds. There was one obvious choice, and it was Scott Coleman. Nash called him and passed along Johnson's address and the construction site where he was currently working. Coleman was read in on the program, so Nash did not have to explain to him what was going on. Coleman told him he'd have some answers within the hour.

At the security checkpoint for the NCTC the guard jokingly asked to see Charlie's badge. Nash laughed along with the middle-age guard even though he wasn't in much of a joking mood. After he was cleared and Charlie was given his visitor's badge, Nash pulled into his spot in the underground garage and freed Charlie from his restraints. With the diaper bag on one arm and Charlie in the other, Nash took the elevator up to the sixth floor and into the bullpen. This was Charlie's third trip to the National Counterterrorism Center and he'd been out to Langley at least as many times. Usually on Saturday mornings, so he could give Maggie a chance to sleep in.

By the time Nash reached his assistant's desk she was on her feet with arms out.

"Come here, Charlie."

Nash handed him over and set the diaper bag down on the side chair. He looked up at the wall of TV screens and asked, "Anything new this morning?"

Jessica had worked for Nash for three years. She also helped out with two other Langley guys assigned to the NCTC. "That Coast Guard chopper that went down yesterday..."

"Yeah?"

"Last night the divers recovered all four crew members. Preliminary report says they all drowned." She took her finger and rubbed the wattle under Charlie's chin. "They went back down first thing this morning and found seven bullet holes. Four of them appeared to have pierced the engine compartment. The FBI has a team headed down to verify, but the divers say they were fifty-caliber rounds. Armor-piercing."

"And they think it was a drug shipment?"

"Yep, but there's only one problem." Jessica pointed across the floor at a cluster of desks and said, "Alberto from DEA says they rarely shoot at our birds, and he's never heard of them doing it so close to shore."

Nash wondered if the cargo was more than drugs. "Let me know what the FBI finds out." He looked over at the corner office and asked, "Is Mr. Crabby Pants in?"

"Yep," Jessica replied as she gave Charlie a little tickle under the arm. "You'd better leave the kid with me."

"He's in that bad a mood?"

"No worse than usual."

"That's all right," Nash said. "I'll use him as a shield." He took Charlie back and said, "One more thing. Call the dean of students at Sidwell and find out when he's meeting with my wife."

Jessica frowned. "Shouldn't I just call Maggie?"

"No... in fact, tell them you're checking on her behalf."

"What's going on?" she asked suspiciously.

"Rory beat up some kid... it's a complicated story, but the short version is that the little spoiled shit had it coming."

Jessica was a mother of two young boys. She understood the program. "Was it on school property?"

"Yes."

"And knowing Sidwell, I'm sure they have a zero tolerance policy."

"That's right. And if I know my wife, she's going to go in there today and kiss some major ass and make this thing go away."

"And you're not invited?"

"That's my guess."

"I'm on it." She said as she sat and reached for her phone. "I'll let you know what I find out."

Nash walked over and knocked on Harris's door. A loud voice told whoever was there to go away. Nash knocked again and then grinned as he heard a slew of curses erupt from the other side.

As the door started to open, Harris could be heard growling, "What kind of dumb mother..." The last word got stuck in his mouth as soon as he saw the smiling little towhead in Nash's arms.

"I need to have a word with you," Nash said in a grim voice.

Harris took a step back and motioned for them to come in. As soon as he closed the door, his entire demeanor changed. He rubbed his hands together and then reached out for Charlie, who willingly lunged forward. Harris held him tight and kissed his big pudgy cheeks. "Oh... Sheila is going to be jealous when I tell her you stopped by the office."

Nash smiled. Sheila was Harris's wife, who leapt at the chance to watch Charlie any chance she got. The show Nash and Harris had put on for everybody in the office on Monday had been prearranged. The two worked very hard behind the scenes to share information, and Nash thought it would be best if Harris let everyone in the office believe he was furious over the story in the Post, Post, when in fact he had known about the basics of the operation from the beginning. when in fact he had known about the basics of the operation from the beginning.

Harris saw Charlie looking at his desk, so he sat down in his chair and said, "I don't let anyone touch my desk, but you, little buddy, you can touch anything you want. Go ahead." After a moment he looked up at Nash and said, "What's wrong? I can see by the way you're standing there like you need an enema that you're not having such a good morning."

"I've got a problem."

"How bad?"

"It depends." Nash shrugged his shoulders, and then appeared to be lost in thought.

"Buddy," Harris said, "you can trust me."

"I know I can, I just don't know if I want to lay this mess at your feet."

"We've talked about this before." There was a clang as Charlie knocked over a blue FBI mug filled with pens. "That's okay," Harris said reassuringly and then looked back up at Nash. "I'm with you on this thing. I'm not going to break any laws on my end, but I'm not going to turn your ass in either."

"You need to be really careful on this. No electronic fingerprints... No paper trails. I'd prefer it if there weren't any phone records."

"I know how to work the system. Tell me what you need."

Nash looked out the window for a moment and then said, "A friend of mine has gone missing."

"Good guy or bad guy?"

"Good guy."

"How long?"

"Not sure."

"When was the last time you heard from him?" Harris asked while he reached out and squeezed Charlie's thigh.

"Yesterday afternoon."

"That's not very long."

Nash sighed. This was going to be hard to express, why he was so worried. He settled on saying, "Considering the circumstances... it's an eternity."

Harris nodded. "You want me to check the morgue?"

Nash hoped it wasn't the case, but it had to be done. "You told me you had some buddies downtown... D.C. Metro."

"I know a bunch of guys down there. A few owe me some pretty big favors."

"Good. Just keep it real quiet. You don't want this traced back to you."

"I know how to handle it. Just give me the basics." Harris stuck out his big mitt, palm up, and said, "Charles, may I please use that pen?"

Charlie looked at the pen and then carefully placed it in Harris's hand. He smiled at his own accomplishment.

Harris rubbed Charlie's back and said, "You're a smart little boy. Too smart for the Marines. You'll have to go into the Navy like your uncle Artie." Harris grabbed a sheet of paper and said, "Shoot."

Nash thought of a dozen off-color remarks he could make about the men who sailed the seven seas, but kept them to himself. Thinking about Johnson, he said, "Six feet tall, African American, approximately one hundred and eighty pounds."

"How old?"

"Late twenties."

"Anything else?"

"He has an Airborne tattoo on his left bicep."

"Name?"

Nash shook his head.

"All right. I'll have a buddy of mine check the morgue for John Does."

"Thanks," said Nash while plucking Charlie off the desk. If something had happened to Johnson, he would never forgive himself.

"Don't you have to get your ass downtown?"

"Yeah."

"Well, good luck. Don't take any shit from those peckers."

At the door Nash stopped and said, "I'm not the one who's going to need it. Rapp's the one they have in their sights today."

CHAPTER 57

CAPITOL HILL.