"What are you trying to insinuate?" Kristy De Graff asked, obviously offended.

"There are two sides to every story, Kristy. Have you asked your son if he provoked Rory?"

"Provoked!" she said in shock. "My son's face looks like something out of a horror movie. I can't believe we are even having this conversation." She turned to her husband. "I told you we should call the police."

"I think that's a great idea," Nash said as he sat back and crossed his legs. "I'm sure the administration here at Sidwell would love the P.R. they would get out of having D.C.'s finest on campus. The police can take statements from each of the boys and any witnesses, and then it will all go away because the D.C. juvenile courts have a hell of a lot more important things to worry about than a couple of wealthy kids getting in a fistfight, because one kid said he wanted to fuck the other kid's sister."

The word hit like a mortar shell. Barnum Smith sat back like she'd been slapped in the face, and both De Graffs sat in their chairs slack-jawed, not believing what they had heard. Maggie simply lowered her face into her hands and Nash said, "Yeah, your little angel was telling Rory about all the things he wanted to do to my daughter Shannon... who, by the way, is fourteen. Derek said she was really hot and that he wanted to fuck fuck her." her."

An appalled Kristy De Graff said, "My son would never say such a thing."

"Oh... he did," Nash said as lightheartedly as he could. "In fact, he said it several times. Rory told him if he said it again he was going to beat him up. Apparently, Derek didn't take him very seriously, because he thought it would be funny to then insult my wife by telling Rory that Maggie here is a MILF. Which stands for Mom I'd Like to..." Nash didn't want to push it, so he mouthed the word.

Dean Barnum Smith was seriously offended. She turned to the De Graffs and asked, "Have you talked to Derek about this?"

"I don't need to talk to my Derek about this," Kristy said. "He would never talk like that."

The dean gave her a look that said, Don't be so sure about it Don't be so sure about it. She pressed the intercom button on her desk and said, "Please send word that I want Derek De Graff and Rory Nash sent to my office."

As the dean took her finger off the intercom button, Kristy De Graff turned to her husband and said, "I told you we should have brought our attorney with us."

Nash felt his BlackBerry vibrate. He reached into his suit coat breast pocket and grabbed it. It was an e-mail from Art Harris. Nash opened it and read the small letters: I think I found your guy. Not good. Call me ASAP! I think I found your guy. Not good. Call me ASAP!

The room suddenly got very hot. Nash pulled at his tie and stood. "I'm very sorry," he said to the group. "I have to leave."

Maggie looked up at him and saw what she took to be genuine fear on her husband's face. "What's wrong?"

"Something at work. I'll call you the first chance I get." Nash squeezed her shoulder and left. By the time he hit the front steps of the school, he had Harris on the line. "Art, what's up?"

There was a heavy sigh on the other end and then, "The D.C. fire department responded to a call last night just before four in the morning. There was a burning car in an abandoned lot. When they got the thing put out, they popped the trunk and found a body. Based on the coroner's report, everything matched your description except one thing."

"What's that?" Nash asked, holding out a sliver of hope.

"He was missing three toes on his right foot. The doc said they looked like they'd been cut off one at a time, and not by a surgeon. He also said it looked like it had been done recently. Probably around the time of murder, but he wouldn't know until he was finished with the full autopsy."

"Shit," Nash said as he lost all hope.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Forget we ever had this conversation." Nash hung up and looked back at the school and then at his phone. He knew what he had to do and he hoped Rory would understand. Nash jumped in his car and dialed Rapp's number. After six rings he got his voice mail. Nash hesitated for a second and then decided to call Kennedy's office. When her assistant answered, he said, "This is Mike Nash. I need you to get Rapp on the phone ASAP. I have an emergency."

CHAPTER 61

CAPITOL HILL.

LONSDALE did the walk of shame back to her office from the committee room. Only those who really knew her could have guessed that she was on the verge of cracking. She was a professional politician, after all - a woman who could look happy after three straight months on the campaign trail. What was a little two-minute walk from the Judiciary Committee room to her office? She'd almost snapped three times, though, twice at a couple of her incompetent staffers who couldn't read her emotions for shit, and once at a fellow senator who had rushed up to her to find out what happened behind the closed-door session. Each time Lonsdale looked like a petite version of the Heisman Trophy with her hand extended palm-out to keep would-be tacklers at bay.

When she finally made it to her office suite, she slid through her private door and walked right past a half dozen senior staffers who knew her well enough to keep their mouths shut. She breezed through the small reception area with a plastic smile on her face and entered her office. A split second later the heavy wooden door slammed shut.

All eyes turned to Wassen. He looked with a heavy dose of trepidation at the door his boss had just gone through and knew she was waiting for him and only him. If anyone else dared go through that door, they would get their head bitten off. Ralph Wassen motioned for everyone to get back to work, and then he very carefully opened the door and slid in, closing it behind him. Lonsdale was on the long couch - her shoes off, her feet up, and a cigarette in her hand. Wassen noticed that she hadn't bothered to turn on the smoke eater, which he took as another bad sign.

He crossed the room, turned on the machine, and then went and joined his boss in the seating area. He took one of the ultramodern armchairs with the big chrome base and said, "What in the hell happened?"

Lonsdale didn't bother to look at him. With her head tilted back, she looked up through a cloud of smoke and said, "Probably the worst day of my life."

Wassen thought of her dead husband. "Worse than the day John died?"

"No," she answered frankly. "No... not worse than that. It was the most embarrassing failure of my political career," she corrected herself.

"What in the hell happened?" he asked again.

"They all turned on me. They pissed right down their pants legs."

"Why? What did Rapp say?"

Lonsdale rocked her head forward and looked at Wassen for the first time. "He did basically what you told me he would do. Not exactly the same, but the same general theme. He scared the piss out of all of them. Made them think we're in danger of being attacked, and if they don't let him loose so he can break as many laws as he wants, he's going to blame us when we get hit."

Wassen swallowed. "So where does it go from here? We've been flooded with calls. Are you going to open it up to the press at two?"

Lonsdale took a long drag and then, after she'd exhaled, began laughing hysterically.

"What's so funny?"

"There isn't going to be any hearing this afternoon. At least not in front of my committee."

Wassen was stunned. "How is that possible?"

"That little shit," she said, "put the fear of God into all those little pussies I serve with. He wanted to have a public hearing this afternoon. He was willing to admit to hitting and choking and electrocuting that damn terrorist in front of a roomful of cameras, and he was going to say he did it all to protect us against an imminent attack by some phantom terrorist cell. And then he gave them a second option, which was to refer the entire matter back to the Intelligence Committee, where things could be handled in a more secret manner."

"And?"

"My own damn party ran out on me. There was a heated thirty-minute debate on the matter, a vote to refer it back to the Intelligence Committee, and it was over."

"How did the vote break?"

She waved her hand dismissively. "It wasn't even close. It was seven to one before it even got to me, and that was on my side of the aisle."

Wassen winced and asked, "Anything else?"

She had her head all the way back again. She groaned and said, "Ted Darby whispered in my ear, at one point, that if I didn't calm down and begin acting reasonably, he would make sure my chairmanship was taken away from me."

"Oh my God," Wassen mumbled. Ted Darby was perhaps the most powerful man in the entire Senate and not someone who was prone to making empty threats. "So where do you go from here?"

"I don't know. I suppose I can go after him when he comes before the Intel Committee, but I don't think I'm going to get much support."

Wassen looked at his watch. It was a few minutes past noon. She was already late for her lunch appointment. "I hate to do this to you, but you have a lunch date with Joe Barreiro."

Lonsdale grabbed her forehead with her free hand and said, "I can't do it. No way. I don't think I could hold it together. I'll end up saying something that could land me in hot water with the Ethics Committee. Hell... probably even the Justice Department." She paused for a moment and then started laughing. "Wouldn't that be something? After all this, I'm the one who ends up getting indicted."

"You're not going to get indicted. Do you want me to go in your place?"

"No." She waved her hand. "Just cancel it."

"Bad idea."

"Why?"

"Barreiro doesn't like getting stood up. He's likely to write something really nasty about you, and from what it sounds like, the last thing you need right now is some bad press."

"You're right."

"What should I tell him?"

"Tell him my party has abandoned me. That they no longer care about government employees following the law."

"How about I tell him that Rapp brought some disturbing information before your committee, and you have decided that, for the sake of national security, you would refer the entire matter to the Intelligence Committee, where it can be handled with sensitivity."

"Take credit for it?" she asked in near total exasperation.

"That's the general idea."

"No way in hell. This thing will turn someday, and I'll be standing there looking at all these gutless bastards... and we'll all know whose fault this was."

"Fine." Wassen stood. "Would you like me to tell him the vote was eighteen to two? Let me guess: the only other person to join you was our stalwart communist, Chuck Levine?"

"Do you really think I need this right now?"

"What you don't need is more bad press than you're already going to get."

"Fine... I don't care," she said without looking at him.

Wassen looked down at her and hesitated to bring to her attention that he had warned her about this. He wanted to say to her, And what happens if Rapp is right? How will you handle it when all of your colleagues look at you with derision? And what happens if Rapp is right? How will you handle it when all of your colleagues look at you with derision? But he couldn't. Not now, while she was so thoroughly beaten. It would be cruel. He would wait for a few days to pass and then try to talk some sense into her. And in the meantime, he would give Barreiro a version of the events that would make his boss look more moderate. But he couldn't. Not now, while she was so thoroughly beaten. It would be cruel. He would wait for a few days to pass and then try to talk some sense into her. And in the meantime, he would give Barreiro a version of the events that would make his boss look more moderate.

CHAPTER 62

RAPP, Kennedy, O'Brien, and Ridley went up to Hart 216 and ensconced themselves in one of the secure conference rooms, so they could have some privacy and take advantage of the phones. Rapp's club sandwich and fries lay half eaten in a Styrofoam container. He was up and moving. His jacket was hung over one of the empty chairs and he had his arms crossed while he slowly walked from one end of the conference room to the other. O'Brien and Ridley paid him no attention. They were used to the fact that the man seemed to be in perpetual motion, and they were too interested in finishing their own lunch. Kennedy, however, was watching him with her sad, thoughtful eyes. She'd already closed the lid on her salad and pushed it aside.

She took a sip of Diet Coke and asked, "What's wrong?"

Rapp scratched his hand with his left hand. "I've got a bad feeling."

"You said things went well," Kennedy said reassuringly.

"They did. I'm not talking about that stuff... I'm worried about what's going on out there." Rapp waved his hand toward the walls.

Kennedy smiled. He had never been comfortable in this role of bureaucrat. Not that he wasn't good at it - he was. He was just infinitely better in the field, left to his own devices and judgment. His true talent was wasted in these meeting rooms, but she'd needed him to make a statement. She could have said everything he'd said, and the majority of the senators would have dismissed it out of hand. But Rapp was something different. A dirty, muddy, and bloody soldier returning from the front lines to report to the generals that the situation was quite different than it appeared from the safety of the rear. Rapp was a man of action who had bled for, and done great things for, his country. Few, if any, knew the specifics of what he'd done, but the rumors were enough for them to give great weight to his words. There would be a few like Lonsdale, however, who so despised what he stood for that they would never listen. But the majority would be sensible, for in the end, they were politicians, and the one thing they could be counted on doing was to act in their own self-interest.

"Just a few more hours this afternoon and then hopefully we can move forward with their support."

"I'm not worried about that," said Rapp in a grave voice. "I'm worried about this damn third cell. According to the Brits, D-day was set for next week."

O'Brien and Ridley stopped talking and looked at Rapp. They knew if he was concerned, they should be concerned. "Mitch, we don't even know if this third cell is for real, and if they do exist, there was a good chance they were scared off after the other two failed to report in."

Kennedy watched Rapp and could tell there was something else on his mind that he wasn't saying. "What's wrong?"

Rapp looked at the two men and then Kennedy. "I talked to Nash right before lunch. He says one of his guys has missed his last two check-ins."

"Which guy?"

"It sounds like Chris Johnson."

"What check-in? We pulled the damn plug on the whole thing." O'Brien said with anger. "It was supposed to be shut down."

"Don't go all HQ on me, Chuck," Rapp shot back with every bit as much anger. "We've all been in the field before. We all know what it's like to bust your ass on something for months and then have HQ hit you over the head with some asinine order."

"This is different, Mitch," a red-faced O'Brien said. "There was way too much heat coming down on us."

"And none of us were there." Rapp said, pointing at the table. "I don't know what in the hell Johnson told him that convinced him to leave him on the job, but I'm not going to get all pissed off about one of our guys putting his nuts on the line. I trained Nash. I taught him to be aggressive, just like you two were when you were running around in Europe, Charlie, and when you were working your magic in the Middle East, Rob. So if you want to be pissed at someone... take it out on me."

Ridley held up his hands and said, "I think it's safe to say Nash had a good reason for leaving Johnson in place."

"It's not his call," O'Brien said. "If he has something, he comes to us, and we make the decision."

"Bullshit!" Rapp said while frowning at O'Brien. "You gonna tell me when you were slinking around East Berlin you never made a couple frickin' on-the-fly decisions and never told your boss?"

"Gentlemen," Kennedy said without looking at any of them, "do any of you know Mike Nash to be a reckless man?"

One by one they all shook their heads.

"Good," she said, "then we should all calm down and think about what this might mean."

The secure phone in the middle of the table started ringing. Ridley reached out and grabbed it. "Hello." He listened for a second and then gave Rapp the handset. "It's Nash."

Rapp grabbed the phone. "What's up?"