They were in a line of cars waiting to get into the base. The guards at the gate were doing full searches, both of the interior and the trunk. They were even checking under the hood.

Ihbraham opened his door. "I should get out here. They'll check your car more carefully and take twice as long if I'm riding with you."

"I don't care," she said, knowing that he was talking about more than just pa.s.sing this checkpoint.

"My sons may have skin as dark as mine," he told her. "You said you don't want that. You saida""

"I wanted life to be easy," she said. "But there's no such thing. You're the best person I've ever met, Ihbraham. And if you want to be with me, then... But if you've changed your minda""

"No, I didn't, but I also didn't expect you to change yours," Ihbraham said. "I've agreed to help my brothers and... You must give me some time to figure out what to do. Will you do that, please?"

She nodded. "Help them how?"

"It has to do with a woman," he said, and her heart sank. "I'm supposed to take her to dinner tonight and then ... But I'll get out of ita"I'll get out of all of it." He climbed out of her car.

She leaned over so she could see him. "Will you call me tonight?"

"Yesa"if I can."

"I love you," she said.

He smiled, and her morning got even brighter. "It is a day, I think, for miracles all around."

"How are you, Lieutenant?" Vince said as he greeted Mike Muldoon in front of the VIP dais that was set up catty-corner to the spectator stands. "Crazy night last night. Thanks for being there for Joanie."

He nodded. "It was my pleasure, sir."

Vince nodded, looking out onto the field where SEALs from Team Sixteen would fast-rope down from two helicopters and take out a large piece of artillery. He knew from his own experience that it wouldn't take much to prevent a gun like that from firing. Putting all of the various parts out of commission would take a little more effort. He suspected that was what they were going to be doing here today.

Either way, it was going to be so fast that most people would have no idea exactly what they had witnessed.

This entire shindig had a carnival-type atmosphere. Families with little kids and tourists of all shapes and sizes had come out in force on this gorgeousa"but hota"day to see this show.

"Did you get any sleep at all last night?" he asked the kid.

Muldoon smiled and answered him honestly. "No, sir."

That was some smile. It must've been one h.e.l.l of a night. "Ask her to marry you yet?"

The kid seemed surprised for only a second. But then nodded. "Yes, sir. She's, um, thinking about it."

Vince turned to face him. "Really?" Joanie, thinking about getting married! "I'm impressed."

Every now and then a chopper flew overhead, making it impossible to hear. Muldoon waited for this latest one to move off a bit before answering. "Yes, sir. I, uh, kind of put her in a position where she didn't want to, urn, disappoint me by saying no right away. So she said maybe. I consider that to be something of a victory."

"I'd say so," Vince said. "How on earth did you... ?"

Muldoon was shaking his head. "Sorry, sir. I can't, uh..."

Oh ho, so it was like that, was it? Vince had to work to keep from laughing. Good for him. Good for Joanie, too. "Well, if you want some advice from an old man, persistence triumphs. Just keep coming backa"whatever she throws at you. Don't quit. Just keep showing up."

"That's my plan," Muldoon said. "Do me a favor and don't tell her we talked about this, okay?"

"I wouldn't dream of it. No point making her go postal."

Muldoon laughed. Yeah, he knew Joanie pretty well. "Is there anything I can get for you today, sir? Do you have everything you need?"

Vince glanced over to where Charlie was talking to Joanie and several other ladies who were part of the White House staff. She had color in her cheeksa"no doubt about it, she was enjoying this very much.

"I'm perfect," he said, giving the boy a smile. "Thanks."

Husaam Abdul-Fataah walked into the Navy base without being searched.

Sure, he walked through a metal detector, and he'd had to take off his shoes and get them checked, but other than that, he was just waved on through.

Despite claims that this country avoided racial profiling, there were far more places he could go with his fair skin and light-colored eyes and hair than could most people who had such an obviously Muslim name.

Of course, Husaam Abdul-Fataah was the name he took seven years ago, after his first meeting with al-Qaeda leaders, when it became obvious that embracing the Muslim faith would be a smart business move. He'd converted, enthusiastically. He'd worship zucchini squash if it would help him bring home the kind of money he was earning these days.

And as for his new name, it roughly translated into "sword and servant of the opener of the gates of sustenance."

And those gates were open, indeed. He was steadily and quite gainfully employed. And the work was laughably easy. It was amusing indeed that, after years of working as a hired gun, a shooter with an ability rivaled by few, his biggest "skill" now was his ability to blend in in America. His greatest a.s.set was the genes he'd inherited from Glen and Irene Canton of Lenexa, Kansas.

As Husaam watched, an obviously Arabic-looking man was pulled from the line and swept with the metal detector wand, even though he hadn't set off the walk-through alarm. The man was patient and serene despite the obvious indignity of being singled out.

And look at that. It was Ihbraham Rahman. Wasn't that provident? Maybe there was something to this blessings from Allah thing after all.

Husaam hadn't been intending to stay here on the base for long. Once the bullets started flying, it was going to get very dangerous in this vicinity. In fact, he was expecting a call on his cell phone warning him when the President's motorcade crossed the causeway.

But Ihbraham's presence was too neat a gift from G.o.d to pa.s.s up. And Husaam knew where the martyrs were intending to stand. He could position himself well out of range of their weapons.

Husaam hung back and waited. And as Ihbraham finally was allowed into the area, he followed him.

Sam Starrett watched the crowd filtering in through the gates from his bird's-eye perspective in Seahawk One.

As the helicopter made another pa.s.s overhead, he could see the metal detectors and the security personnel hard at work, bomb-sniffing dogs nearby. Everyone's shoes had to come off and get sent through the X-ray machines. Bags and packages weren't allowed inside, but ladies' purses were. It was ridiculousa"like women couldn't be as murderous as the next guy?

Obviously the policymakers didn't know the same women who Sam knew.

Mary Lou had gotten up and out early this morning, taking Haley with her, before he even woke up. And for the first time since they were married, she'd left the dishes in the sink.

Which, in Mary Lou's head, was probably a most heinous act of domestic terrorisma"probably retaliation for him asking if she was getting it on with Donny the Nutjob.

She was a strange woman. Last night, when she'd told him to f.u.c.k himself, he'd gotten a glimpse of the girl he'd l.u.s.ted after at the Ladybug Lounge all those months ago. It almost made him want her again.

Almost.

But he was smarter nowa"and determined to think things through before he took action. In other words, he was going to keep his pants zipped.

Yeah, that was one mistake he wasn't going to repeat. s.e.x for the sake of s.e.x. It wasn't going to happen, not ever again.

He looked down at the metal detectors now, and watched as the guards ran a whole line of folded-up baby strollers through the X-ray machine.

Jesus, they were actually allowing baby strollers in. That was one big f.u.c.king mistake.

If he were a terrorist, he'd carry all his explosives in a baby stroller, right under junior's diaper-padded little b.u.t.t.

Wheel his way to his destination with the greatest of ease, pick up junior, set the timer, and walk away.

And then, after the blast, he'd run away crying, "Someone help me get my darling baby to safety!"

But hey, that was just him.

Suicide bombers didn't bother with timers, either, so maybe the baby stroller thing wasn't a real threat.

"Starrett, Nilsson, do you read?"

"Got you loud and clear, Commander," Sam answered Paoletti, speaking into his lip mike.

"Ditto that, sir," Nils reported in from Seahawk Two. "What can we do to make your day a little easier?"

Commander Paoletti was freaking out about this op.

Okay, that was an overstatement, considering that Paoletti 's version of freaking out meant that he ground his teeth slightly harder than usual.

All joking aside, the man was about as grim as Sam had ever seen him. It was almost as bad as that time they were pulling an amba.s.sador's wife out of a country in which a coup had taken place. The new government had decided at the last minute that they really didn't want any of them to leave after all and started shooting. Their helo suffered a direct hita"a lucky shot. Those losers couldn't have done that kind of damage in a million years if they'd actually tried. The team managed to make a controlled crash landing, but the Seahawka"it was a lot like this one, as a matter of facta"blew sky-high shortly after, and the force of the explosion had thrown Paoletti right on his head.

Kind of the way Sam's older sister Lainey used to throw his GI Joe dolls across the driveway during the great Barbie Wars of third and fourth grade.

Tom Paoletti had regained consciousness almost right away. But while the team was hustling to make it out of the country on foot, he recognized that the tunnel vision he was experiencing was a sign of a serious head injury. He knew it was just a matter of time before he went into a coma and became a very heavy addition to their already too heavy load.

He got pretty f.u.c.king grim that day.

A lot like he was today.

What disaster did he mink was going to happen?

Something bad. Sam hoped to G.o.d he was wrong.

"Keep your eyes open while you're up there," Paoletti told them. "I want Jefferson, Jenkins, Maclnnough, and Zanella in place. Starrett and Nilssona"you made the arrangements we discussed yesterday?"

"Yes, sir." He and Nils answered almost in unison.

They didn't use live ammunition during a demonstration like this one. But since Paoletti was afraid that there might be trouble, he'd ordered Sam and Nils to double check that there were magazines with real bullets on board both these helos. And sniper rifles, ready to be pulled out of the rack and tossed to Duke Jefferson and the other top-notch sharpshooters that Paoletti had ordered to be given special seating at the doors of the two Seahawks.

"I want eyes open at all times," the CO stressed again. "And no idle chatter on the radio. We still have about twenty minutes before the president arrives, and ten minutes after that before you do your fast-roping tricks. But as of right now, as far as we're concerned, this op has already started. The clock is running. I want all eyes on the crowd. Let's do what we do best."

Sam looked around the helo at his team of men. Jenk, Wildcard, Cosmo, Gilligan, Duke, and Lopez.

If any of them thought the commander was worrying just a little too much, they didn't show it by so much as a blink. Truth was, they probably respected Paoletti's gut feelings and hunches as much as Sam did. They all returned his gaze steadily, giving him a short nod and a solid thumbs-up.

They were all good to go.

"Joan!"

Joan turned to see Kelly Ashton, Commander Paoletti's fiance, waving to her from the crowd that was milling directly in front of the dais.

There was standing room only down there, although many people preferred it to the bleachers, since it was a chance to be up close and personal when the President gave his speech.

The crowd wasn't too thick yet, and Joan went down the front stairs and over to Kelly.

Anything to keep her from standing on the dais with Muldoon watching her.

Whenever she met his eyes, he smiled.

And she flashed hot and cold and hot again.

He loved her. He wanted to... She couldn't even think the M-word.

Except she was thinking about nothing but the M-word.

She glanced up at the dais where Mike was talking to Tom Paoletti, both of them looking incredible in their dress uniforms, weighed down by a ton of medals.

They'd be getting another one, a unit citation, from the President today.

"How are you? It's nice to see you again," Kelly greeted her. She was with an elderly man. "This is Tom's uncle, Joe Paolettia"he just got in from Boston. He actually caught an earlier flight, which is why we're here. We wouldn't have made it otherwise. Joe, this is Joan DaCosta. She works in the West Wing of the White Housea"isn't that cool?"

"Very. Pleased to meet you, Joan." Joe Paoletti shook her hand and smileda"the family resemblance was pretty amazing, despite the fact that Joe was in his eighties and somehow managed to have more hair than Tom.

"Joe!" Meg Nilsson came over and gave the old man a hug. She had a big-eyed baby with dark curly hair in a pack on her back. "How are you? How long will you be in town?"

Kelly pulled Joan aside. "I heard your brother was in the hospital. Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, it was something he atea"some kind of food poisoning. We don't really know exactly what it was. He's not quite all there mentally."

"I'm sorry to hear that." With her freckles and her blond hair up in a ponytail, dressed down the way she was in shorts and a T-shirt and a baseball cap, Dr. Kelly Ashton looked about twenty-four years old today.

"May I ask you a personal question?" Joan said.

Kelly nodded. "Sure."

"Rumor has ita""

Kelly rolled her eyes. "Oh, jeez."

"Wait, hear me out," Joan said. "The urban legend I've heard says that when you and Tom first got together a few years ago, you moved to San Diego all the way from New England." "

"Okay," Kelly said. "That much is true."