Resurrection Day (9 page)

The President stared at his advisers. Silence had descended on the situation room once again. This time, total shock had stalled the proceedings. Those around the table had had to face many crises in the past. But never a situation in which the entire population of the nation's capital was being held hostage, including, for many present, their own families.

The President addressed Douglas Stevens, the FBI Director.

'Assuming al-Qaeda's got a large quantity of this chemical hidden somewhere in Washington, ready to be dispersed by some kind of explosive device — a bomb, a missile, whatever. And — again assuming — Abu Hasim's got the will to carry out his threat, what are our chances of finding the nerve gas and disarming the device?'

The FBI Director was dreading the question. Ultimately, the job of trying to locate and neutralise the threat would be down to him and his men. 'Washington might not seem like a big city, sir. But we're talking about sixty-seven square miles. Searching an area of that magnitude would require many, many thousands of men. And we're assuming the nerve gas is already in Washington. There's always the possibility al-Queda's people may be hiding it in a surrounding state — Maryland, or Virginia, or even Pennsylvania. Which means an even greater search area — many thousands of square miles. That would take a mammoth amount of manpower.'

'Don't worry about the manpower. Can it be done, discreetly?'

'That's the problem, sir. I don't see how it could. That kind of massive activity is going to get noticed by the press and the public. The chemical could be stored almost anywhere. In a warehouse, a derelict building, in the basement or garage of a private home. We're talking about a huge, intrusive search that's going to get noticed, and people are going to ask questions.'

The last prospect sent a shiver down the President's spine. If the press got the slightest inkling of what was going on, there would be pandemonium on the streets. People would try to flee the capital, which in turn could cause the terrorists themselves to panic and carry out their threat.

'I want a blanket thrown over this — not a word gets out, not a damned whisper. You all realise the implications if it does. We'll need to think of a plausible excuse for the search, so I want you all to try and come up with something. And I don't want anyone moving their families out of the District, either, if they're already here. Life should go on as normal on the surface. You all attend whatever civil functions you're scheduled to attend, and carry out your usual duties with absolutely no hint of a crisis. I want to stress those points. Is that understood?'

The faces around the table nodded. Katherine Ashmore, a slim, blonde, middle-aged Kansas-born attorney, who was the Counsel to the President — and the second woman on the NSC along with Rebecca Joyce — spoke up. 'What about Abu Hasim's warning that our police and FBI don't try to hunt down his followers or find the weapon? What about the consequences if we do that? Hasim says he's ordered his people to detonate the device if they're under dire threat.'

'I take that on board, Kathy. And it's a grave risk, but it's one we've got to take.'

'But what if these people are cornered and set off their device?'

'I know, Kathy. We're caught between a rock and a hard place. But just to stand by and do nothing would be absolutely unthinkable. So we've got to try and find these people and their weapon stealthily.' The President turned to Stevens again. 'I presume you have lists of Arab terrorist suspects?'

'Of course, sir. But the terrorists behind this may not even be on our lists — they may be sleepers who have never been active before now, or specially brought in for the job. Hasim has recruits and trained followers from pretty much every country you'd care to mention that's got an Islamic following, and that includes America. The Muslim provinces of the Russian Federation, like Chechnya, for example. Countries like Bosnia, Somalia, Sudan, the Yemen, as well as Libya, the Philippines, Egypt and the Lebanon. Our culprits could be among any one or more of those nationalities. And for many years Arab terrorist cells, including the al-Qaeda network, have been using American-born recruits with Middle Eastern family backgrounds. Without solid clues, we'd really be working blind.'

'Then look for clues, fast. Manpower or cost is no object.' The President addressed the head of the CIA. 'We'll need your help, Dick. Scour your files, see what you can come up with. Again, I want it done discreetly. And try to find where Hasim might be hiding out. What he's been up to recently. Who's been helping him. The names of anybody who can get to him.'

Faulks raised his eyes. 'You mean kill him, sir?'

'No, I mean anyone who can communicate with him directly.' The President turned to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General 'Bud' Horton, a tall, ruggedly built, fit-looking man in his late fifties with cropped, steel-grey hair. 'General Horton, I want a feasibility study on how long it would take to withdraw our troops and military personnel from the Arab region.'

'Sir?'

'Every serviceman, every US citizen who works for the military, every weapon, tank, aircraft and base we've got in that part of the world — lock, stock, and barrel.'

Horton, a man known for his diplomacy but one who was equally capable of speaking his mind, looked horrified. 'Surely we can't contemplate that, Mr President?'

'We'll contemplate it if we have to.' The President turned to Stevens. 'The same applies for evacuating Washington. I want to know how long it would take to empty the city and get people a safe distance away. I presume we've got disaster-scenario studies or people who can carry them out, rapidly?'

'Yes, sir. I'll get on to it immediately.'

'And find the best brains you can in the field of terrorist behaviour, people we can trust — we may have need of their expertise. All the better if they're familiar with Abu Hasim.' The President stood. 'I want our search under way as soon as possible, so get to work, gentlemen. I'd like you all back here in just under three hours — one p.m. exactly.' He looked down at Paul Burton, a darkly handsome and neatly dressed man in his early forties, a former Marine officer who was the Assistant to the President for National Security Affairs. 'Paul, get back to me even sooner if you have anything important to discuss. And once again, everyone, this remains watertight. Whoever else you need to be involved within your departments are to be made thoroughly aware of that fact.'

The President waited as the assembly stood and began to move out of the room. He gestured to the Vice-President. Alex Havers was a rotund, soft-spoken man touching sixty, who tended to wield his power quietly but effectively in the background. 'Alex, can you stay a moment?'

'Of course.'

When the others had left, the room was eerily silent. 'Walk with me to the Oval Office, Alex.'

'Yes, sir.'

They strolled through the corridors, past the Secret Service agents, and when they reached the Oval Office the President slumped into his leather chair and stared out towards the Washington Monument.

When Pierre L'Enfant came up with the 'Plan of the City of Washington' in 1792 he had a surveyor divide the city into four compass quadrants, with the Capitol Building at the epicentre, and those same quadrants exist today. But over two hundred years ago the population had been less than fifty thousand. Now it was over six hundred thousand. But it didn't end there. Another two million people flooded into the capital each working day, employed in factories, stores and schools, offices and government departments. And the greater metropolitan area, which encompassed the District and the towns and boroughs of the surrounding states, contained a population of over six million.

'My God, what's the world coming to? A madman wants to wipe out an entire city. What if something goes horribly wrong in the meantime — what if Hasim's people mess up by mistake and that device of their goes off and Washington's a graveyard?'

'I've no answer to that, sir.'

'We'll need to talk with the mayor.'

'I believe Al Brown's in London, sir. Attending a conference on city planning.'

'Get him back. Think of some excuse. Don't tell him why just yet, I'd prefer you left that to me. But get him back just as soon as you can and make sure nobody gets suspicious. I don't want the press asking questions.'

'Yes, Mr President.'

'Then try and find yourself someplace quiet. Have a long hard think about this, Alex. See if there's anything you can come up with, any angle we haven't considered. Then we better make the necessary precautionary arrangements to get you well out of harm's way, a long way from DC. God forbid, if this thing turns bad, we want to make sure you're alive to assume presidential authority, if need be.'

'Yes, sir. What if you're confined to the White House? How do we cover that with the press?'

'We'll think of something. A flu bug, some minor ailment, or whatever. But we'll worry about that later, Alex. Meet me back here a quarter before one.'

When Havers had gone, the President swung his leather chair to face the window behind him. He put a hand to his cheek in meditation, stared out beyond the bullet-proof, green-tinted windows. His worst dread and that of his administration had come true: an attack on American soil by a terrorist group with a powerful weapon of mass destruction. And worse, a terrorist group led by a mad religious zealot who had already proved in the past that he meant serious and deadly business.

As President, ultimately it was his problem to try to solve. The words on Truman's plaque were as true as ever: The buck stops here. The thought chilled him to the bone.
The lives of hundreds of thousands of people are in my hands. If I fail, many of them may die.

He reflected on his awesome responsibility, then shook his head, bewildered. What kind of man would sentence hundreds of thousands of innocent men, women and children to death in the name of religious fanaticism? What kind of man could hate America with such vehemence that he was prepared try to wipe out the citizens of an entire city for the sake of his cause? What kind of man would do that?

The President had no answer. He closed his eyes. Very slowly, and with sincere conviction, he began to recite the Lord's Prayer.

Chesapeake Beach 11 November 12.15 p.m.

Davito's restaurant was busy that Saturday afternoon, but Nikki managed to get them a table in the conservatory which overlooked the marina. Sitting in the warm sunshine, they had a clear view of the boats, the long curving beach and coastline, the gulls hovering in the cold autumn jetstreams. She ordered a chicken salad for her and Jack had saltimbocca, both excellent, accompanied by a half-bottle of house Chianti. She poured barely half a glass for herself, but filled Jack's. 'Seeing as I'm driving, you have my permission to get as laced as you like. Want me to book the ambulance now?'

'What are you trying to do, get me plastered?'

'Would I ever?' She smiled, looked into Jack Collins' face. It wasn't handsome, by any means. It had a craggy, weathered look, and with his slightly husky voice, hair combed back off his face, and faded-denim eyes, it made her think of a much younger-looking George C. Scott. There was a solidness about him, a promise of strength like that of an old dray-horse you know can pull the load and go the distance.

They had met eight months previously at a house-warming in Georgetown given by Kelly Tuturo, who she had once worked with at Channel 5, many years ago. He had arrived late and sat nursing a beer at the kitchen table with Kelly's husband, Dave, who worked for the FBI. Kelly had tried to make the introduction. 'Come and talk with Jack. You'll like him, Nikki. He's an interesting guy.'

Nikki had balked. When Mark and she had broken up eighteen months after Daniel was born, and her husband just walked out, telling her he had met a twenty-two-year-old nurse and was moving to Chicago, she didn't want a man to come near her. To make it worse, after Mark left he never rang, never wanted to see Daniel. She was confused, angry, mystified. How could a man do that to an infant son? How could a husband she had trusted and fallen in love with so hopelessly just walk away from his own flesh and blood, and a beautiful baby boy at that? A boy who needed him, who missed him, a tiny human being who sensed the loss of his father, especially in those first empty months when Daniel would innocently look up into her face, his lips trembling as he asked, 'Where Daddy, Mom? I want see Daddy.' That was the part that always broke her heart, reduced her to the verge of tears, made her hurt seem scalpel sharp.

For whenever she had hugged Daniel and told him, 'Daddy's gone, pumpkin,' he would break into floods of tears. She had learned to deflect the question, to distract her son until he had learned to forget, to accept that the man who had been his daddy wasn't there any more. Later, when she discovered that Mark had been having a string of affairs behind her back for years, her pain was all the worse. For a long time afterwards even the very thought of being in a man's company, married or otherwise, let alone trusting him, made Nikki quail. She still went through days like that every now and then, when all the bitterness and anger returned, and that day at Kelly Tuturo's party had been one of them. 'I really don't think I'm in the mood for meeting men, Kelly.'

'Hey, don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to match-make. It's just to make conversation.' Then she heard the slight reproach in Kelly's voice. 'Honey, I know your divorce just came through, and men aren't exactly high in your estimation. Sure, there are a lot of bastards out there, but in Jack Collins' case, you'd be way off the mark. And he's had a pretty rough time, Nikki. So go easy on him, OK?'

Kelly had a compassionate, almost protective, attitude towards her husband's friend. Nikki let the reproach pass. Kelly, a warmhearted girl with perfect hair and exquisitely manicured nails, had always had a liking for men, good or bad. 'Why, what happened to him?'

Kelly glanced towards where her husband and Collins were still taking, and whispered, 'Not now, Nikki. It's not the time. Now — how about you help me freshen up the drinks?'

Later, sitting in the garden sunshine, the two of them alone, Nikki had said, 'So what's the story with Dave's friend Jack? Does he work for the Feds, too?'

Kelly nodded, lit a cigarette. 'CT Division — that's counter-terrorism to you and me, Nikki.'

'What happened to him?'

A shadow crossed Kelly's face. 'Remember the attack on the USS Cole?'

Nikki couldn't but remember. Every newspaper and TV station in the country had covered the story. Seventeen young American sailors had been killed when suicide terrorist bombers had tried to blow up their ship while it was berthed in Aden harbour. 'Sure.'

'One of the sailors killed was Jack's son.' Kelly shook her head in dismay. 'He was just nineteen, Nikki. A boy, barely out of high school. It was his first tour of duty overseas. Sean was Jack's only child. You've no idea how much it broke him up.'

'I ... I'm so sorry to hear that.' Nikki felt a pang of guilt for her testy mood and shuddered. As with most parents, the fear of losing her child preoccupied her now and then, but the thought was too heart wrenching to contemplate, and it was something she tried hard not to dwell on. 'I guess he and his wife must have found it pretty difficult to cope?'

'That's what made it all the worse.'

'What do you mean?'

'His wife Annie loved Sean like there was no tomorrow. They both had a pretty rough time of coming to terms with his death, but Annie seemed to take it worst of all. She was in a private hospital over in Bethesda for a time, living on medication, trying to cope. Jack used to drive over there every single day, meet her out on the lawn, at a bench where she'd like to wait for him. Then one day she wasn't there. The doctors said she'd lost the will to live. It happens to some people, you know. The stress of losing someone close, someone they love dearly, it gets to them and they don't have the strength to go on. I guess you just don't believe that kind of thing can happen, until you have kids of your own and you know what love really means and you realise how it might affect you, losing a son or daughter like that.'

Nikki shuddered again. She couldn't imagine how she'd cope if Daniel was gone, how she'd have the will to go on living. Suicide would probably figure in her thoughts; as it would with most mothers who lost a beloved child, especially the only one you had. 'You make me feel like divorce isn't the worst thing a girl can go through.'

Kelly brightened, said in her warm Tennessee accent, 'Hey, isn't that what I've been trying to tell you for months? And you're talking to someone who's been down that road once already. There's a lot worse in life, believe me. So maybe that ought to perk you up.'

Nikki looked back towards the kitchen, where Jack Collins stood beside a circle of guys discussing a football game. Even to her he seemed slightly lost, nursing a beer, on the edge of the conversation.

Later, Kelly had introduced them. It was his denim eyes that first struck her, eyes that looked as if they had prowled the bleakest chambers of the human heart. A tough guy, but gentle too, with a sentimental streak a mile wide. Nikki had found him appealing in a vague sort of way, and when they had met again at Kelly's house two months later, whatever slight attraction had passed between them was to become a friendship. And for almost six months afterwards they had met for dinner now and then, nothing more than that, until one night in August it had happened.

Nikki had asked him to her apartment for dinner. He had stayed over, sleeping in the spare bedroom, and when she had gone in to say goodnight she had lain beside him, wanting to be held, cherished again. A hug had become an embrace, an embrace a prelude to lovemaking. Afterwards he had told her she was the first woman he'd slept with since his wife had died. She believed him. She also knew that it was the first time in a long while that she had believed anything remotely intimate a man had told her.

'So, do I get to hear the real reason why a good-looking woman buys me lunch?'

Nikki came out of her reverie. Jack was staring at her — not intently, just inquisitively. She slowly put down her napkin, reached for her glass, took a measured sip before setting it down again. 'I had some news I wanted to tell you. The Capitol Gazette in Annapolis has offered me an editorial position. I've been thinking of taking the job and moving out here to the cottage.'

'How come you never told me before now?'

'I only got the offer yesterday. My interview was the day before, so I didn't want to mention it in case it came to nothing. But it has, and now I've got a decision to make. That's why I thought I'd ask your opinion.'

She studied his face for a reaction. It was hard to tell whether his expression was one of disappointment or surprise. 'I didn't know you wanted to leave Washington, Nikki.'

'To be honest, it's more for Daniel. I mean, Washington's wonderful, Jack, don't get me wrong, but it's a big, impersonal city with all the big-city problems that go with it. A crime rate that's still off the clock, a drugs problem that's not going to go away. I did a story for the Post last week. A seven-year-old kid got caught with an automatic pistol in a school in the south-east district. A seven-year-old, Jack. Jesus, that frightens me. I don't want to continue to raise my son in conditions like that. Down here, there's no crime worth talking of, good neighbours, a beach near by. It would be wonderful for Daniel. And the job's nine-to-five, which would be perfect. It's only half an hour to Annapolis from the cottage, and there's a day care centre right by the office. I could check on him any time I like.'

She waited for a response, a word, but nothing came. She twisted her napkin. 'So what do you think?'

'How does your mom feel? She'd miss seeing Daniel so often. As it is, she gets to see him pretty much every day.'

'I didn't tell her.'

'Why not?'

'I wanted to run something by you first.' Nikki stopped twisting her napkin. She felt her face flush beneath her make-up. 'Maybe I should put all my cards on the table?'

This time Jack raised his eyes. 'There's more?'

She nodded. 'That was the easy part. At least, I think it was. And I don't know why I feel embarrassed saying this, but ... ' She hesitated, stretched her fingers out to the napkin again, but toyed with a dessert spoon instead, said it as frankly as she could. 'I just thought, well ... I thought maybe you might like to stay here for a while with Daniel and me.'

'You mean move in? Commute to Washington from here?'

'Yes, I mean move in.' She felt herself blushing again. 'Kind of see how it goes.'

'What brought all this on?'

Nikki hesitated. She knew she desperately wanted to be more honest. But she couldn't, not completely, not right now. She had wanted to tell him about what had been bothering her for months, since they'd slept together. That she suddenly hankered for a man in her life again, that she realised Daniel needed a father. That maybe she even wanted more family. She wasn't getting any younger, and in another few years the risks involved in getting pregnant would become too great. She wanted to tell him all those things, but instead her hand reached over, lay on top of his. 'I want to help you heal the wounds, I really do, Jack.'

He took her hand in his warmly. 'I know you do, Nikki. And I'm grateful. More grateful than you can ever know.'

'Maybe ... it's just that today, of all days, I wanted you to know that I'm there for you. It's not a marriage proposal, the offer for you to move in. But maybe it's a step towards something. A trial run, if you like. You need someone in your life. So do I.'

Jack Collins looked out towards the marina, to where an elderly man was coiling up some rope on the deck of one of the boats in the autumn sunshine, looked out to where the sea shimmered under the blind stare of the blue sky. Nikki saw that he seemed in some kind of turmoil, or maybe discomfort. Had she said too much, too soon? At once a part of her regretted having said what she had. But she had wanted to say it, needed to.

When he looked back at her face, he spoke gently. 'I know what you're trying to say, Nikki. And I'm touched, honestly I am. Apart from everything else this has been a great friendship. And everything else has been good too. I'm sure any other guy would jump at the chance. And I'm pretty sure that this is the last opportunity in my life I'm ever going to get to meet someone like you ... '

Her heart sank a little. Jack's voice had barely changed, but a new alertness coloured it, a shade of wariness. The pale blue fabric of his eyes flushed now with caution.

'I sense a but there somewhere.'

'Nikki, I just don't know that I'm ready for that kind of commitment. Not ... not just yet.'

She let his reply sit there a moment, feeling rebuffed but trying to hide it. 'You're sure there's no other reason?'

'What reason could there be?'

'Sometimes men find it difficult to be a father to another man's child.'

He shook his head. 'I like Daniel very much, Nikki, you know that. Maybe it's even more than like. He's such a great little boy. And there's times I'll admit when I've wondered what it might be like being a father to him.' He paused. 'But in a little while, maybe, not right now. Can you understand, Nikki?'

For a moment she was silent. She wanted to tell him that she couldn't wait for ever, that she was suddenly so aware of time and life racing on, that she needed to grasp something solid now, a good relationship, as much for Daniel's sake as her own. That she didn't want herself and her son to be alone. But still she couldn't tell him. 'I understand.'

'Do you, Nikki?'

'Sure.' She tried to hide her disappointment. 'Forget I ever mentioned it, at least for now. So let's not talk about it any more. Today's probably the wrong time for me to even bring up the subject, anyway. I'm sorry, my love.'

'What about the job offer?'

Nikki shook her head. 'There's lots of time to discuss it. The Gazette's given me a week to think about their offer.'

He kissed her palm. 'You're not sore, are you, Nikki?'

'No, I'm not sore.' She smiled, leaned over, pecked his cheek, said the words softly, to his face. 'But I wanted you to know what I felt.'