of the lead Suburban, forcing the heavy SUV to grind to a halt. It was all the time the man needed. The weight of the launcher kept it steady on his shoulder as his eyes found the primary target. He squeezed the trigger and the first rocket screamed toward the second vehicle, its deadly path marked by a thin contrail of white smoke.
The senator saw a brief flash through the driving rain and closed his eyes as the agents screamed into their radios.
The man immediately adjusted his aim after he saw the projectile slam into the back end of the second Suburban. The M74 rocket was filled with 0.61 kilograms of a thickened pyrophoric agent, known as TPA, with chemical properties similar to those of white phosphorus. The results were devastating to behold. Another rocket tore into the lead Suburban just seconds after the vehicle carrying the senator was reduced to a heap of smouldering metal. The particles expelled from the warhead’s casing ripped into nearby vehicles and passersby. One agent managed to get the rear door open just before the impact and was thrown 20 meters from the vehicle, his scorched body writhing on the damp pavement until he expired a few moments later.
The chaos was unimaginable on Independence Avenue, as the street was filled with people returning to work from their lunch hour. The screams of terrified onlookers were lost on the man as he turned his attention to the chase vehicle that had initiated the first warnings over the radio. The fact that he had fired two rockets within five seconds had given the agents in the last car little time to react, and he could see there were only two of them, one behind the wheel. He lifted the launcher, but immediately pulled it back down when he realized that the agent exiting the passenger side already had an MP5 submachine gun up at his shoulder. Benecelli squeezed off a 3-round burst that missed the assassin by inches, the 9mm slugs tearing into the red-brick wall of the Arts and Industries Building. Then Benecelli’s line of sight was blocked as his target moved behind the bulk of the Tahoe.
Meanwhile, the man with the launcher was beginning to feel the chance for escape rapidly slipping away. The angle at which he had parked the rented truck had given him a direct route to the National Mall through the Smithsonian’s Haupt Garden. Still shielded by the Tahoe, he took two steps back toward the wrought iron entrance, then turned to sprint through the gate and down the tree-lined path. He stopped and turned once more before reaching the sharp right curve that led out to the Mall. His breath was coming hard, but his hands were steady as he checked to make sure that the final round was properly seated in the weapon. Then he lifted the launcher to his shoulder for the third and final time.
The rain was driving harder now, heavy curtains of water sweeping over the buildings and the approaching sidewalk, obscuring much of their view and drowning out the cries of the wounded. On the other side of the Tahoe, Agent Megan Lawrence moved carefully to the left, her standard-issue Sig Sauer P229 up in a modified Weaver stance as she covered her advancing partner. Benecelli held the only automatic weapon in the vehicle, and she couldn’t help but realize how completely outgunned she was. Megan commanded her mind to remain clear as she focused on the slowly widening gap between the front windshield of the truck and the narrow path next to the Arts and Industries Building. She did not think about her six-year-old daughter or the close friends she had just lost, although both thoughts were screaming for her attention. At that moment, all her awareness and considerable skill were focused on Benecelli as he began to edge around the front of the vehicle.
Her partner hesitated just before moving into position for the shot, and it was only then that Megan heard the terrible whine of the solid-fuel rocket as it sped down the path and into the passenger side door of the Tahoe. Standing frozen in place, she watched in horror as the triethylaluminum filler burned its way through the vehicle’s frame like it was made of plastic. Jagged pieces of metal coated in smouldering particles of TPA embedded themselves deep into Benecelli’s face and chest, and the last thing she heard were his screams of agony before her world faded to black.
CHAPTER 1
CAPE ELIZABETH, MAINE
It wasn’t an easy climb to the top of the 170-foot slope, especially after an hour-long swim in the icy waters of the North Atlantic. Nevertheless, Ryan Kealey was pleased to feel only a slight sense of exertion when he finally reached the small clearing above the cliffs. He took a long moment to admire the view, then moved off at an easy pace down a gravel footpath. It wasn’t long before he came across a ragged beach towel draped over a solitary fence post. Using it to dry his unruly black hair, Kealey continued along the path until the trees parted and the house he had purchased eleven months earlier came into view. The thoroughly remodeled home stood three stories tall, with elaborate French doors and windows tucked neatly into the cedar-shingled exterior. The expensive slate roof was a recent addition, as was the exterior fireplace centered on the inlaid stone patio. Ryan had done most of the stonework himself, but had contracted out for the roof. While he was proud of his abilities as a handyman, he recognized that there were limitations to his skill.
As he approached, the door leading to the kitchen was suddenly flung open, and a young woman rushed out to envelop him in a ferocious hug.
“Damn it, Ryan, I’ve been looking everywhere for you! I’ve got some news you definitely don’t want to hear,” she said with an infectious grin.
Kealey smiled back, charmed as always by her youthful exuberance. “Then I know you’ll save us both the trouble and keep it to yourself,” he said with a laugh.
She bounced alongside of him as he moved through the open door into the warm interior of the house.
“You’ll never believe it,” she said breathlessly. “I overheard the dean saying that your attendance record is even worse than that of your ‘most consistently inebriated student,’ were his exact words, I think, and then he said-”
“Katie.” He interrupted her excited rambling with gentle good humor. “I need that job even less than he wants me there. I wouldn’t worry about it.” Kealey occasionally lectured at the University of Maine as an associate professor of International Relations, but lately just hadn’t been inclined to make the trip. Although he was becoming increasingly bored with the teaching, he had to admit that something good had come of it as he surreptitiously glanced at Katie Donovan out of the corner of his eye.
She was pouting as though put off by his lack of interest in her story, but the theatrics didn’t last long. “Honey, I’ve been running around since six this morning,” she said. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Care for some company?” he asked with a mischievous grin.
“Oh, I see how it is,” she retorted, wearing a knowing smile of her own. “You’re more than happy to jump in the shower with me, but you couldn’t care less when it comes to hearing about my day.”
He shrugged. “I guess we’ll just have to compromise. I’ll scrub you down while you tell the story.”
“‘Scrub me down,’ huh? Is that what you call it now?” He opened his mouth to protest, but she had already peeled off her T-shirt and tossed it in his face. Then she was running up the stairs, screaming in mock fear as Ryan followed close on her heels.
Much later, he stood on the second-story balcony with a cup of coffee and stared out across the frigid gray expanse of the ocean. He watched as the towering thunderheads several miles offshore seemed to grow at an alarming rate, and could soon feel the strong gusts as they brought small sprinkles of rain inland. If he strained, he could hear the distant peel of thunder over the television tuned to MSNBC in the master bedroom. Every major news network had been providing continuous coverage of the preceding week’s attack in Washington, as they were prone to do with any disaster — natural or otherwise. As he sipped the warm coffee, he heard the screen door slide open and Katie approached from behind, gently wrapping her wind-tanned forearms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder.
“You’re expecting a call, aren’t you?”
Ryan raised an eyebrow at that. They had been together for only six months, and though they had once had a short, awkward discussion about the work he used to do, the subject did not often come up. Once again, he was amazed by how perceptive she could be.
He turned to face her, instinctively reaching out to touch her cheek, smooth beneath waves of shimmering golden brown. As her troubled blue eyes searched his face, he found he could only answer truthfully.
“I guess I am. The call is a given. It’s whether I go or not…” He turned to gaze at the approaching storm. “I just don’t know.”
She leaned in to kiss him gently on the lips.
