shots. Some were sitting under tarps, and others were just laid out and covered with morning dew. Rielly couldn’t begin to count how many times she had imagined herself standing in that exact spot giving the nation the inside story on what had just happened at the White House. Since her first journalism class at the University of Michigan twelve years earlier, she had dreamed of this day, covering the White House, the center of politics-important issues that affected world events. No more boring chitchat about the weather, fronts coming off of Lake Michigan. Sports, weather, and murders were ninety-nine percent of the broadcast in Chicago. Rielly smiled briefly as she thought of her life there. She would miss her brothers and parents dearly, but flights to Chicago were cheap and frequent. The uniformed Secret Service officer looked at Rielly through the glass and asked, “First day on the job?”
Rielly smiled, showing a set of dimples.
“Yep.”
The agent placed her ID and a badge in the metal trough under the glass and slid them to her. Through the speaker, he said, “Please wear this badge at all times while in the compound.
You may proceed down the street here”-the guard pointed-“to that white awning on the left. They’ll tell you where to go from there.”
Rielly thanked the man, and she was buzzed through the first gate and then a second. She continued down West Executive Drive to the awning. As she stepped onto the curb, a limousine pulled up. Its back door opened, and she heard a familiar voice call her name. Rielly turned and saw Russ Piper, the former mayor of Chicago, struggling to get out of the backseat of the limo.
Piper had one hand on the door and the other on the doorframe. The majority of his weight was in his belly, so he had to draw himself to the very edge of the seat before he had the leverage to stand.
Rielly, somewhat surprised, said, “Russ.” She stepped forward and met Piper’s hug.
Piper squeezed her tight and then stepped away, still holding her by the shoulders.
“Dorothy just told me last night you were coming to town, but I had no idea it would be this fast.”
Rielly’s face twisted.
“I didn’t even know I was coming until two days ago. How did your wife find out so fast?”
“My guess would be that your mother told her, which of course means half of Chicago knows by now that you’re the new White House correspondent for NBC.” Piper gave her a big hug again.
“Congratulations, Anna. I know how hard you’ve worked for this, and I think it’s just fantastic.” He kissed her on the forehead. Rielly’s mother was very active in Chicago Democratic politics, and her parents had been close friends with the Pipers for as long as she could remember.
Piper released her again and with a frown asked, “When were you planning on calling us?”
“I just got in last night.”
“Where are you staying?” Piper’s brow furrowed.
“I hope you’re not staying at a hotel. Dorothy will be really upset if you don’t stay with us.”
Anna tilted her head. “Russ, I’m not on spring break.” She looked away from Piper as a second man stepped from the limo. She noted that he was probably a foreigner, and one with a lot of money, judging by the clothes he was wearing.
Piper followed Rielly’s gaze to his guest and said, “Oh, I’m sorry. Prince Kalib, I would like you to meet a very good friend of mine, Ms. Anna Rielly.”
Aziz looked at the stunning woman before him and was immediately drawn to her green eyes. Extending his hand, he took hers and bent forward, kissing the back of Rielly’s soft hand. Standing straight, he said, “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
Rielly retracted her hand, feeling somewhat uncomfortable with the forward gesture.
“Likewise.”
“Anna is the new White House correspondent for NBC.”
“Congratulations.” Aziz canted his chin, and while doing so, noted the two guards by the door.
“Thank you.”
Piper looked at his watch.
“Anna, the president is squeezing us in, so I don’t want to be late. Do you have plans for dinner?”
“Ah…” Rielly shook her head while she thought about it.
“No.”
“Good. Call Dorothy and tell her we’re on.”
Rielly smiled.
“I’ll call right away.”
“Good, we’ll see you tonight.”
Piper and Aziz walked under the awning and through the double doors that led to the ground floor of the West Wing. A uniformed Secret Service officer who was sitting behind a desk watched a monitor as they passed through the door. The monitor was connected to an X-ray machine and a metal detector that were built into the wood-framed doorway.
The officer rose to his feet.
“Good morning, Chairman Piper.”
“Good morning, Dick. I have one guest, and I’ll vouch for him personally.”
The officer checked his list and saw that Piper’s office had called late the previous evening and scheduled a meeting with the president.
“Is this Prince Kalib?”
“Yes,” replied Piper.
The agent handed Aziz a visitor’s badge and said, “Please wear this at all times while in the building, and when you’re done with your meeting, return to this desk and turn it in before leaving.”
Aziz took the badge, and Piper said, “Thanks, Dick,” as he and the prince started down the hallway.
As Aziz clipped the badge to his lapel, he noticed his hands felt almost weightless. His whole body felt light. He was finally going through the real steps of something that he had played over and over in his mind countless times. This was it, and it all seemed so easy. As they continued down the hallway, Aziz reached down and pressed a button on his watch once. After doing so, he glanced over his shoulder and looked at the guards by the door.
ONE BLOCK EAST of the White House a slight man in a white jacket and black pants was vacuuming the hallway on the top floor of the Washington Hotel. The man paused for a moment and looked out the French doors that led to the rooftop patio. Across the street he could see the roof of the Treasury Department and then just beyond that the White House. From this elevated position he could clearly see the guard standing watch on the roof of the Executive Mansion, less than two hundred yards away. The guard was wearing blue coveralls and a matching baseball cap. A pair of binoculars were slung around his neck, and from time to time he used them to scan different areas. On the far side of the roof was a small white guard booth.
Salim Rusan had looked out these doors five days a week for almost three months and watched the movements of the Secret Service. The guard on the roof would be easy to take care of. The young Palestinian shifted his eyes to the far end of the South Lawn, where the Rose Garden ran up to the edge of the Colonnade, just outside the Oval Office. A Secret Service agent was on post, not one of the uniformed officers. That meant the president was in the West Wing, where he was supposed to be. The agent by the Oval Office would be first, and the guard on the roof would be second. That had been Aziz’s decision. Aziz had decided everything.
Every last detail.
The pager on the young Palestinian’s hip vibrated, and he jerked at the awkward feeling. Aziz was inside the White House. It was going to happen. Rusan started for the closet at the end of the hallway, licking his lips and noting the tightening sensation in his chest. It was time to get ready.
THEY WERE AIRBORNE and sailing smoothly westward through clear skies.
Rapp looked out the window at a blanket of cottony clouds that seemed to stretch forever. The young Virginian never tired of looking at the sight beneath him. It was always different; every cloud always had its own
