Andrew Britton - The American

She was almost frantic. “Sir, you have to stall them, or at least have them take a different route. He kept coming the whole time, despite every effort on our part to stop him. He knows something, or he would have backed off. He has to know something.”

“You might be right about that.” He was thinking back to Kealey’s warning about the missing laptops at the State and Justice departments, a warning that they had both quickly dismissed at the time. If Vanderveen had managed to get his hands on something like that, he would have certainly known how to put it to good use. And the Secret Service still hadn’t released their report on the matter. “I’m sending this all the way up, Naomi. I hope to God this isn’t a false alarm.”

She had never been more sure of anything in her life, but knew that he wasn’t questioning her judgment. It was just that he had to ask it. “He’s there,” she said emphatically. “He’s pushed it too far to stop now. He’s there and he’s waiting.”

A brief hesitation. “Okay. I gotta run. See if you can pin down Hargrove’s brother, find out for sure what he did with the van. And listen… good work.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“… And so, I am pleased to join President Chirac and Prime Minister Berlusconi in announcing a gradual downsizing of European oil interests in the Republic of Iran over the next three years, beginning with an immediate decrease in production by 200,000 barrels per day in the South Pars gas fields, and culminating with the complete withdrawal of survey and exploration teams in the region by 2008. Production will also be reduced in the Dorood, Salman, and Abuzar oil fields which, combined, account for more than 70 percent of Iran’s offshore output.

“The United States has made no secret of the fact that it has maintained sanctions against Iran since 1979. These measures have been strengthened over the years, most notably with the Iran-Libya Sanctions Act of 1996. While it is our wholehearted desire to see these sanctions lifted and the full restoration of diplomatic relations between the U.S. and the Republic of Iran, there should be no doubt that we are willing to stay the course if the Iranian government persists in its attempts to acquire tools of mass destruction.”

President Brenneman paused, then held up his hand to quell the sudden surge of voices from the crowd of reporters standing before him. “I’d like to take this opportunity to personally thank President Chirac and Prime Minister Berlusconi for accepting my invitation, and for working as hard as they have to make this goal a reality. The agreement that has been brokered here today is the direct result of their commitment to the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty and its intended purpose: to render the threat of nuclear war a thing of the past, and to make the world a safer place for future generations. Now I’d like to step aside and let them tell you more about the specific implementations that are scheduled to occur…”

As she surveyed the scene, Jodie Rivers shook her head and thought, This is insane. Despite the fact that the guest list had been kept to a minimum and carefully screened, the area bordering the waterfront was packed by more than 200 people, each and every one of whom, in her eyes, was a potential threat.

The three heads of state were standing on an elevated podium perhaps 50 feet wide and 20 feet deep. President Brenneman was moving aside to give the French ambassador room as he stepped up to introduce President Chirac. Although there were large numbers of Diplomatic Security and Secret Service agents both on and around the podium, Rivers was well aware that this was a huge security risk. As a result, her eyes never left the stage, even when she flipped open her ringing cell phone and lifted it to her ear. She definitely didn’t appreciate the interruption.

“Agent Rivers? This is Director Landrieu.”

She recognized the urgency in his voice immediately, and felt suddenly cold. “Yes, sir.”

“Let me start by saying this is a four-way line. You’re talking to Deputy Directors McCabe and Susskind as well. Listen carefully. We have some information that puts Vanderveen in the city with an Improvised Explosive Device. I can’t give you better than 90 percent on that, but it was enough to put the wheels in motion, and I don’t need to tell you who the target is.”

Dear God, she thought. Her worst nightmare was coming true, and she had to force herself to pay attention.

“…Rivers? Are you still with me?”

“Yes, sir. Go ahead.”

“You’re looking for a white Ford van, commercial type, probably an Econoline. We don’t have a plate number or a name for you yet, but we’re only a couple of minutes away, so keep your line open.”

“What about the-”

“Jodie.” It was a new voice, and one she recognized immediately. “AIC Storey has already been alerted. We’re gonna keep the question-and-answer session with the press pool going as long as we can without arousing any suspicion, okay? We finally got through to the people in Norfolk… Under the name of Timothy Nichols, Vanderveen took possession of forty crates at a total weight of just over 3,000 pounds less than two weeks ago.”

Her eyes went wide at the numbers. “Jesus, the city is packed-”

When he cut back in, McCabe’s voice had the clear ring of authority. “Listen to me, Jodie: Your only concern is for the president, okay? You have that waterfront locked down, I’ve seen it myself. There’s nothing Vanderveen can do to you there unless he’s suicidal, and the general consensus, the hope, is that he isn’t. Normally we’d move the president as fast and far as possible, but that’s not going to work in this case. So we’ll keep him at the marina for now; Storey knows what to do, just follow his lead. As soon as I get off here, I’m headed to your location.”

Yet another voice, coming fast before she could respond: “Agent Rivers, this is Emily Susskind. HRT is already up and running. They’re fanning out around the area, and some are in plainclothes, okay? You need to get that to your observers as soon as possible. I don’t want my people getting shot by mistake.”

She was nodding to herself as the instructions came fast over the phone. “Got it.”

Then, from Deputy Director Susskind: “Hold on.” Over the sounds of the crowd around her, Rivers heard static and voices raised in excitement. It seemed like minutes later when McCabe came on and said, “Got a name, Jodie. Claude Bidault, French national. The vehicle was registered in Virginia less than a month ago. Plate number is… RND-1911. Ready for a description?”

“Go.”

“Black hair and brown eyes. He might have a beard, but that’s not 100 percent. A little heavier than Vanderveen, at about 200 pounds. We’re not sure how he’s doing that; padding, maybe. Same height, of course. There’s nothing he could do there.”

“I’ll get it out to my observers.” Rivers was a little bit frantic now. “Sir, I have to move.”

“I know.” McCabe’s voice was tense over the line. “Get to it, Jodie.”

Ryan had been on the street for two-and-a-half hours. Nothing so far had grabbed his attention, although he had to remind himself that Vanderveen wasn’t exactly going out of his way to appear conspicuous.

There had been nothing planned out or expedient in his route; he had headed north from 7th and Maine, scanning faces and checking vehicles along the way. There wasn’t much he could do other than to look through the windows and drop down to visually inspect the undercarriages, and his strange behavior had earned him some curious glances, as well as a few fearful ones.

He recognized the futility of his search, but there was one overriding fact that bothered him more than anything else: there was no feasible way to detonate a bomb by command wire on a crowded city street, and a timer wasn’t practical, either, even if Vanderveen had somehow managed to get hold of the Secret Service’s list of scheduled movements.