'I have to see the president,' Hood told him.
'I'm sorry, sir, you'll have to leave,' the young man insisted. Hood wagged the badge that hung around his neck.
'I have blue-level access,' he said.
'I can stand here. Please. Just knock on the door and tell the president I'm here.'
'Sir, my doing that won't help you to see the president,' the secret service agent told him.
'They've moved the meeting downstairs.'
'Where?' Hood asked. But he already knew.
'To the Situation Room.' Hood turned and swore. Fenwick was correct. He was going to keep him from seeing the president. The only way to get down there was with the next-level access badge, which was red level. Everyone who had that level would be down there. Being seduced and controlled by Jack Fenwick. Hood walked back toward the Cabinet Room. He was still holding his cell phone and tapping it against his open palm. He felt like throwing the damn thing. He could not phone the president. Calls to the Situation Room went through a different switchboard than the rest of the White House. He did not have clearance for direct dial, and Fenwick would certainly have arranged it so that any calls Hood made would be refused or delayed. Hood was accustomed to challenges, to delays. But he always had access to the people he needed to talk to and persuade. Even when terrorists had seized the United Nations Security Council, there had been ways to get in. All he needed was the resolve and manpower to do it. He was not accustomed to being utterly stonewalled like this. It was miserably frustrating. He stopped walking. He looked up at the portrait of Woodrow Wilson, then looked at the painting of Mrs. Wilson.
'Shit,' he said. He glanced down at the phone. Maybe he wasn't as stonewalled as he thought. Jogging again. Hood returned to the Cabinet Room. He was willing to bet there was one avenue Jack Fenwick hadn't closed down. He couldn't have, even if he wanted to.
A queen always beat a Jack.
Baku, Azerbaijan Tuesday, 11:09 a.m.
As Odette walked down the hall, she had two concerns. One worry was that she might be making a mistake about the identity of the man in room 310. That he was not, in fact, the Harpooner. Orlov had given Odette a general idea what the Harpooner looked like. But he had added that the Harpooner probably wore disguises. She had a mental picture of someone tall and aquiline with pale, hateful eyes and long fingers. Would she hesitate to shoot if someone not-so-tall and heavyset with blue, welcoming eyes and stubby fingers opened the door? Would that give him a chance to strike first? An innocent man would come over and say 'Hello,' she told herself. The Harpooner might do that to throw off her guard. She had to strike first, whoever was in there. Her other concern was a question of confidence. She had been thinking about the reluctance she heard in General Orlov's voice. Odette wondered what concerned him most. That something would happen to her or that the Harpooner might escape? Probably both. Though she tried to rev up an 'I'll show him' mentality. General Oriov's lack of confidence did not boost her own. It doesn't matter, she told herself. Focus on the goal and on nothing else. The mission was all that mattered. The target was just a few doors down. Odette and David Battat had agreed that she would start their spat. She was the one who had to open the door and go in. She should control the timing. The couple passed room 314. Odette was holding the key in her left hand. She still had the gun in her right hand, under the jacket, which was draped over her forearm. Battat was holding the switchblade at his side. He seemed to be somewhat more focused than he had been when he arrived. Odette was not surprised. She was, too. They passed room 312. Odette turned to Battat.
'Why are you stopping?' she asked him. Odette made sure not to shout just so the Harpooner could hear. Her tone was normal, conversational.
'What do you mean, 'Why am I stopping?'' he asked right back. Odette moved ahead several steps. She stopped in front of room 310. Her heart was speeding.
'Aren't we going inside?'
'Yes,' he replied impatiently.
'That's not our room,' Odette said.
'Yes it is,' Battat said.
'No,' Odette said.
'This is our room.'
'We're in 312,' Battat said confidently. She put the key in the slot of 310. That was the signal for Battat to step over to the room. He walked over and stopped directly behind her. His right shoulder was practically touching the door. Odette's fingers were damp with sweat. She could actually smell the brass of the key. She hesitated. This is what you'we been waiting for, she reminded herself. An opportunity to prove herself and to make Viktor proud. She turned the key to the right. The bolt went with it. The door opened.
'I told you this was our room,' she said to Battat. Odette swallowed hard. The words had caught in her throat and she did not want to show her fear. The Harpooner might hear it in her voice. With the door open a sliver, Odette withdrew the key. She slipped it in her pocket and used that moment to listen. The TV was off and the Harpooner was not in the shower. Odette was half hoping he had been in the bathroom, cornered. But she heard nothing. She opened the door a little more. There was a short, narrow hallway inside. It was cave dark and utterly still. They had assumed the Harpooner would be hiding in the room, but what if he were not? He could be out for a late breakfast. Or he might have left Baku. Perhaps he kept the room as a safe house in case he needed it. But what if he's waiting for us? she thought then. And she answered her own question. Then we 'II have to handle the situation. Viktor used to say that nothing was guaranteed.
'What's wrong, honey?' Battat asked. The words startled her. Odette looked back at her companion. The American's brow was pinched. He was obviously concerned. She realized that she was probably waiting too long to go in.
'Nothing's wrong,' she said. She opened the door a little farther and reached in with her left hand.
'I'm just looking for the light.' Odette pushed the door until it was halfway open. She could see the glowing red numbers of the alarm clock on the night table. There was a jagged line of white light in the center of the drapes. Its brilliance only made the rest of the room seem darker. Odette's gun was still hidden under her jacket, still behind the half-closed door. She found the light switch with her left hand. She nicked it on. The hall light came on
