Marshall said, “You have a problem with the plan, sir?”
“You tell me, Marshall. How does Sachs compute into all your scenarios?”
“She doesn’t, sir.”
“What the hell does that mean, son?” Block demanded. “You see, unlike you, I’m an old fart who has no plans to run for office, or not run for office, whatever the hell dance you and the president had going on. So I can say whatever the hell I goddamn please.”
Marshall bristled at the condescension and looked down at his screen. “Psych profile says she’s a reformer. The teachers unions hate her. Her husband died in the 9-11 attacks. Went down with the North Tower of the World Trade Center.”
Block said, “You saying she might surprise us and prove tougher on the enemy?”
“I’m saying if Sachs is appointed, she’s going to play by the book,” Marshall said. “And our playbook is pretty clear. Regardless of who’s the president, he or she has only a limited set of response options to choose from. In other words, she’s not a factor.”
“Not a factor?” Block said in disbelief. “Hell, Marshall. The sight of her alone is going to inspire the chinks to unload everything they’ve got at us. So don’t give me this bullshit that she’s not a factor. You better goddamn believe she’s a factor. Figure out how.”
Marshall crumpled the communique in his hand. “Yes, sir.”
“God help us if she’s still alive, Marshall.”
16
“The federal government can’t do everything,” Sachs said from the podium in the gymnasium. The floor-to- ceiling windows behind her framed the school’s wintry track and field. “But it can do something.”
The bored eyes of the students and faculty began to glaze over. Sachs could see Jennifer slump even lower in her folding chair.
So much for the lecture circuit.
“Please tell me there’s more to the United States of America than a libertarian philosophy of no government, no shared values, no community and the notion that the only moral authority for each of us is ourselves.”
That seemed to perk them up, ironically, because the students and faculty stirred.
“That’s not a country,” she continued with more feeling. “That’s chaos.”
But all eyes were looking over her shoulder. She turned and blinked as two military Black Hawk choppers with side-mounted machine guns landed on the school green and soldiers in field uniforms jumped out.
Suddenly there was a crash from the opposite side of the gym. A dozen men in dark overcoats and sunglasses burst through the doors into the gymnasium.
Some kid yelled, “It’s Rambo!” as the men rushed past Jennifer to get to the podium. The look on Jennifer’s face said, “You really did it now, Mom.”
The leader of the detail halted in front of Sachs. “Secret Service, ma’am. I’m Special Agent Raghav. You are Deborah Sachs?”
“And you are?”
“Special Agent Curtis Raghav. Secret Service. May I see your authentication card?”
Sachs rummaged through her purse and presented her card to Special Agent Raghav.
He looked back and forth at her like a passport inspector at Dulles International Airport, like she was on the terrorist watch list. Then, showing no emotion, he returned the card and nodded to the others. The agents closed ranks in a circle around her. “Please come with us.”
Sachs didn’t budge. “Where?”
“A secure location, ma’am.”
“I’m not leaving my daughter.” She looked over at Jennifer, who took a few steps back into the crowd, trying to disappear.
Raghav nodded to two agents. “Grab the kid.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you goons!” Jennifer shouted as they approached her. “I’m staying with my friends.” She then shoved a prominent middle finger above the heads of the student body and made a break for the opposite exits, the two agents giving her chase.
“Jennifer!” Sachs called out.
But Raghav and the rest tightened their protective ring around her, lifting her an inch off the floor and forcibly carrying her away.
“Smoker Four,” Raghav said into his lapel. “Secure exit!”
The freezing air outside on the school green slapped Sachs in the face. A dozen Green Berets wearing distinctive 1st Special Forces headgear and holding M-16s guarded the Sikorsky S-70 Black Hawks, their rotors turning impatiently, screaming to lift off. But the commanding officer, a hulking, pock-faced presence in field uniform and jump boots, halted Special Agent Raghav and Sachs’ protective detail with a broad, flat hand.
“I’m Colonel Kyle,” the officer said. “This chopper is reserved for Green Dove. We’ll take it from here.”
Raghav flashed his ID. “Wherever she goes, I go.”
“I’m not going anywhere without my daughter and until you tell me what’s going on,” she demanded, trying to veil her fear.
Colonel Kyle looked like he was about to bark an order but seemed to change his mind when he noticed the sea of faces pressed against the gymnasium glass.
“Green Dove and two agents board Black Hawk One,” he ordered. “The rest of the suits, inside Black Hawk Two.”
Before Sachs could protest, Raghav shoved her hard into the eleven-seat chopper, then climbed in after her with five Green Berets so she couldn’t get out. Kyle was the last to board. He signaled the pilot to lift off.
“This is Marine Six to base,” the pilot spoke into his radio. “Green Dove is airborne. Repeat. Green Dove is airborne. En route to DZ.”
As the Black Hawk lifted off, a furious, helpless Sachs could see students and teachers below, noses pressed to the glass wall of the asium, waving good-bye.
“I’m going to have it out with the president when I see him,” Sachs said. “If anything happens to my daughter…”
“Don’t worry,” Colonel Kyle assured her. “We’ll get her.”
17
Jennifer and a thousand other students exploded out the front doors to the pandemonium in the pick-up lanes. An army of Range Rovers, Mercedes and BMWs jammed the snow-plowed street in front of the entrance. Mothers and a few fathers were screaming for their children.
Jennifer slogged across the slushy parking lot as fast as she could. But now two Green Berets in field uniforms and M-16s were gaining on her, and a line of waiting cars stood in her way.
The touch of a hard combat glove on her back prompted her to scream and leap head first across the icy hood of a Mercedes, sliding off into the snow.
She barely had time to look up before she saw a Volvo careening toward her, brakes locked, skidding on the ice. She rolled away seconds before it crashed into the Mercedes.
Getting up, she looked back to see the Marines on the other side of the cars, pointing at her. They split and came at her from both sides, stymied by the panic in the streets.
She turned to run away when a silver minivan braked to a halt in front of her, stopping her cold. Jennifer held
