Hawke looked at Stokely and said, “Swear on a bible? The Inauguration. They’re going to attack the Amercian government on the steps of the Capitol. What time is it?”
“Almost noon, boss. I don’t’ know how much time we’ve got.”
Hawke shook his head and put a gentle hand on Congreve’s shoulder. “Ambrose. The code, what is it?”
“The code.”
“Yes. What is the code? Those numbers we worked so hard on? That bloody book?”
Ambrose smiled weakly, “The da Zimmermann code?”
“Yes, Ambrose. That’s it.”
“Numbers make letters, Alex. Will of Allah. Da Vinci.”
“What?” Hawke said, his mind racing, looking at Stoke for help.
“Will of Allah,” Stoke said, “That sounds like a password. So what’s Da Vinci?”
Ambrose nodded.
“He shouldn’t talk anymore,” Caparina said, looking at Hawke.
Stoke grabbed Hawke’s arm. “We got to go, boss. Caparina will take good care of him till we get back. Let’s go.”
“I want him out of here. Now. Stiletto’s not even close! Where the hell is that seaplane?”
Stoke shook his head and handed Hawke his radio.
“Mick! It’s Hawke. Copy?”
“Copy, Hawke.”
“Can you land that bloody thing? Here? Now? I’m about to lose him!”
“No worries, sir. I’ll splash sideways.”
“Sideways?”
“Little trick I learned in the bush. I’m coming in now.”
Hawke looked at Caparina. “You stay with him. Someone’s coming.”
HAWKE AND STOKELY stepped onto the platform and began their descent. For the moment, Froggy’s men seemed to have staunched the flow of troops. A few were still using the bridge, climbing over the blown tank. There’d been a brief effort to maneuver sponson pontoons across the river, but the M-60s were discouraging a lot of that kind of activity.
They heard a loud engine roar to the right, just above the bridge. The Blue Goose swept in low through the thick black smoke, just a few feet above the smoldering tank hulk on the bridge. Mick Hocking’s wingtips were catching clumps of foliage on either side of the river. For a moment, both men thought he’d surely catch a wing and go down.
He mangaged to keep the the Goose on course, God alone knew how, and flared up for a landing. At the last possible moment, Mick lowered one flap and spun the big plane a few degrees on its axis. The slight angle was enough to clear the heavily wooded banks. The Blue Goose splashed down on the river.
It came to a very quick stop. Mick opened the door and climbed down onto the pontoon, a machine gun cradled in one arm. He swung an anchor, tossed an anchor line into the trees, and started hauling the airplane close to the bank.
“Cover that seaplane!” Stoke shouted in his radio. “Form up! Don’t let anyone near it.” Hawke was reassured by the sight of two men with M-60 heavy machine guns racing along the bank, headed for the waiting seaplane. There was sporadic gunfire from the bridge and the M-60s opened up, silencing it.
Froggy was at the bottom of the tree, waiting for them.
“Froggy,” Hawke said to the little Frenchman, as he and Stoke stepped off the platform.
“Mon ami,” Froggy said to Hawke, bowing from the waist. Hawke smiled and squeezed his old comrade’s shoulder.
“Froggy, get two men up there immediately. Ambrose is badly hurt. Tell your men to be very careful bringing him down. Soon as he’s safely loaded inside the plane, tell Hocking to fly back downriver to Stiletto and get him to sick bay.”
“It is done, Monsieur Hawke,” Froggy said, already on the radio to two of the biggest guys he had.
“Let me borrow that satphone, Froggy,” Hawke said when he signed off, “We might need it.”
The Frenchman handed it over.
“We’ve got ten minutes, Stoke,” Hawke said, “Which one of those trees is the antenna?”
“That one there,” Froggy said, “Come along, mes amis, we’re going to blow it.”
“Timber,” Hawke said with a wry smile, racing toward the fake tree.
85
WASHINGTON, DC
J ack McAtee was ready. The day was cloudy and cold. This was an historic occasion and the president revered history. The Chief Justice was already in place standing beside the George Washington Inaugural Bible. In a few moments, McAtee would place his left hand on it, exactly where Washington had placed his, and be sworn in. It was the moment he most cherished. It was living history, McAtee thought, looking out over the throngs who gathered under the trees.
On April 30, 1789, General George Washington arrived at Federal Hall in lower Manhattan for the very first presidential inauguration. He discovered that there was no bible present. Someone recalled seeing a suitable bible at St. John’s Lodge, a few hundred feet down the road and went in search of it. Returning, he placed the Masonic bible on a red velvet cushion. The book was opened to the pages between Genesis 49 and 50. Washington placed his left hand upon the bible and the first oath of office was administered.
Washington had added the words, “So help me God,” and then bent and kissed the book. Shortly afterward, a silk page was placed inside to mark the precise location where Washington had rested his hand. An engraved portrait of Washington was added, facing the existing one of King George II. And, since the bible was from a fraternal lodge and not one of New York’s twenty-two churches, it was decided the book would be used for all future inaugurations. Washington liked the fact that no specific church was being endorsed.
The two-hundred-year-old Washington Inaugural bible was still used every four years. When not in use, the historic volume was kept under lock and key right where Washington’s men had found it. No one was allowed to touch it without wearing gloves. It sat in an undistinguished room at the back of St. John’s Lodge in lower Manhattan.
THE PRESIDENT was waiting at the top of the Capitol steps. The Chief Justice of the United States, Howard L. Clark, stood at the bottom beside the opened Washington Bible. The First Lady, McAtee’s wife, Lynn, was standing at his side, greeting old friends with a warm smile and trying to hide the fact that she would rather be anywhere else on earth than the Inaugural Platform. Her hands were trembling so badly, she could hardly hold on to the small red leather family bible she always brought along when they flew or on important occasions.
Secret Service agents were everywhere, eyes darting from side to side. Amored vehicles and bomb disposal trucks had tried, unsuccessfully, to park unnoticed at the foot of the podium. She still believed her husband was in imminent danger. She saw Secretary de los Reyes, who smiled at her, knowing she was just as concerned about the events of the day as she was herself.
Even now, she saw with mounting anxiety, there was some kind of skirmish going on over by the Grant Memorial. Protesters were scattering, being moved along by the Secret Service Suburban moving slowly through the crowd. At least, she hoped it was something as benign as unruly protesters. And not the thing she most feared on this gray and threatening day.
“HOW THE HELL did you find this bloody thing?” Hawke asked Froggy, who was busily wiring satchels of Semtex to the base of one of countless and indistinguishable two-hundred-foot-high behemoths. The phony tree
