and awkward in conversation, but she couldn’t deny that she found him reasonably attractive. It
was a moot point anyway, as she did have plans for the weekend; Sarah was celebrating her sixth
birthday on Saturday, and both mother and daughter were excitedly looking forward to
spending the day together.
Sweeping her long red hair back from her face and into a haphazard ponytail, Megan focused
her sparkling green eyes on the vehicles she could see ahead and in her peripheral vision. Silently,
she rebuked herself for letting her thoughts wander. There was no room for that in this job.
Besides, she had the next two days off and would soon have plenty of time to relax.
“God, look at this weather. It’s days like this that remind me Washington used to be a malarial
swamp,” Aidan complained. Senator Levy was distracted, staring out at the wind-rippled surface
of the Capitol Building’s reflecting pool. His stomach pains had not receded since the hearing
adjourned, and he wondered if he should move his doctor’s visit up to next week. Better yet, he
thought, maybe I should just quit this job altogether. Although he was aware that his retirement
would devastate his ambitious chief advisor, the senator knew that nothing would please his wife
more. Lately Elizabeth had been dropping hints about moving to the estate they had recently
purchased in the rolling hills of Virginia, the state that had elected him to his lofty position, and
her wishes seemed to be taking the form of demands with each passing day.
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Still, Levy could not begrudge her this desire, as she had faithfully stood by him through a
turbulent political career spanning nearly three decades. The house just outside of Charlottesville
was in need of extensive remodeling, and a warm glow spread throughout his body at the
thought of making a home there with his wife, and how much she would enjoy the process.
“Senator?” He broke from his thoughts and turned to peer at Kevin Aidan. “We need to talk
about your meeting with the governor next week. He’s going to ask you about school funding,
so I think we ought to—”
“Later, Kevin. Let an old man rest for a moment,” Levy joked as he leaned back in his seat and
closed his eyes. The light drum of the rain on the roof of the vehicle dulled his senses as he
drifted back into fantasies of retirement. He took no notice when the vehicle splashed through a
miniature lake of rainwater as it made the sharp right turn onto Independence Avenue.
From the moment he received the second call, the man in the black Tahoe worked quickly but
efficiently. His hands were steady as he peeled away the threadbare blanket covering the object
on the seat next to him. Lifting the awkward rectangular weapon onto his lap, he flipped a latch
to move the optical sight into place, then swung the firing-pin mechanism down into position.
What he held in his hands was known as the M202A1 66mm launcher, also designated as the
Flash launcher by the U.S. military, for whom it was specially manufactured. This particular
weapon had been conveniently lost during a live-fire training exercise at Fort Bragg the previous
spring with a full complement of three M74 rockets. The semiautomatic launcher was actually
capable of firing four rockets in four seconds, but it was only issued with three, and the army’s
investigation would have been far more extensive if ammunition not assigned to the missing
weapon had also disappeared.
As the launcher was already loaded, he had twenty seconds to spare. He used this time to move
himself and the bulk of the weapon simultaneously into the passenger seat. After extending the
trigger into the firing position, he scanned his mirrors and peripheral visibility. Through the rain
streaking down his rear windshield, he saw the first of the two Suburbans approach.
The man took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Looping the strap into the crook of his right
arm, he cracked the passenger side door and waited to see if fate would spare the life of Senator
Daniel Levy.
As luck would have it, the first light was green. He breathed a soft curse as the convoy began to
roll through the intersection, and so it was with a slight pang of relief that he watched as an
errant motorcycle swerved directly in front of the lead Suburban. The driver braked hard to
avoid clipping the bike, and the man holding the launcher in his lap heard a brief squeal of tires
when the following vehicle stopped. In a quiet show of impiety, he thanked God with a fervent
whisper and pushed out onto the sidewalk.
“Weapon! Move, move, move!” Heads snapped up as the shouted words came over the radio.
The agents in the first vehicle swung frantically in their seats to search for the threat. Senator
Levy was jolted awake from a light sleep, and he turned to his advisor with a confused
expression. Reading panic in Aidan’s face, he immediately turned to look out of the rear
window. The world around him was blocked out by sheets of rain. It was only then that he felt
the first wave of paralyzing fear.
Spurred on by a surge of adrenaline, the young driver of the second vehicle broke protocol and
attempted to maneuver around the first, but the sudden stop had left the vehicles too close
together. He clipped the rear bumper of the lead Suburban, forcing the heavy SUV to grind to a
halt. It was all the time the man needed. The weight of the launcher kept it steady on his shoulder
as his eyes found the primary target. He squeezed the trigger and the first rocket screamed
toward the second vehicle, its deadly path marked by a thin contrail of white smoke.
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The senator saw a brief flash through the driving rain and closed his eyes as the agents screamed
into their radios.
The man immediately adjusted his aim after he saw the projectile slam into the back end of the
second Suburban. The M74 rocket was filled with 0.61 kilograms of a thickened pyrophoric
agent, known as TPA, with chemical properties similar to those of white phosphorus. The
results were devastating to behold. Another rocket tore into the lead Suburban just seconds
after the vehicle carrying the senator was reduced to a heap of smouldering metal. The particles
expelled from the warhead’s casing ripped into nearby vehicles and passersby. One agent
managed to get the rear door open just before the impact and was thrown 20 meters from the
vehicle, his scorched body writhing on the damp pavement until he expired a few moments later.
The chaos was unimaginable on Independence Avenue, as the street was filled with people
returning to work from their lunch hour. The screams of terrified onlookers were lost on the
man as he turned his attention to the chase vehicle that had initiated the first warnings over the
radio. The fact that he had fired two rockets within five seconds had given the agents in the last
car little time to react, and he could see there were only two of them, one behind the wheel. He
lifted the launcher, but immediately pulled it back down when he realized that the agent exiting
the passenger side already had an MP5 submachine gun up at his shoulder. Benecelli squeezed
off a 3-round burst that missed the assassin by inches, the 9mm slugs tearing into the red-brick
wall of the Arts and Industries Building. Then Benecelli’s line of sight was blocked as his target
moved behind the bulk of the Tahoe.
Meanwhile, the man with the launcher was beginning to feel the chance for escape rapidly
slipping away. The angle at which he had parked the rented truck had given him a direct route to
the National Mall through the Smithsonian’s Haupt Garden. Still shielded by the Tahoe, he took
two steps back toward the wrought iron entrance, then turned to sprint through the gate and
down the tree-lined path. He stopped and turned once more before reaching the sharp right
curve that led out to the Mall. His breath was coming hard, but his hands were steady as he
checked to make sure that the final round was properly seated in the weapon. Then he lifted the
launcher to his shoulder for the third and final time.
The rain was driving harder now, heavy curtains of water sweeping over the buildings and the
approaching sidewalk, obscuring much of their view and drowning out the cries of the wounded.
On the other side of the Tahoe, Agent Megan Lawrence moved carefully to the left, her
standard-issue Sig Sauer P229 up in a modified Weaver stance as she covered her advancing
partner. Benecelli held the only automatic weapon in the vehicle, and she couldn’t help but
realize how completely outgunned she was. Megan commanded her mind to remain clear as she
focused on the slowly widening gap between the front windshield of the truck and the narrow
path next to the Arts and Industries Building. She did not think about her six-year-old daughter
or the close friends she had just lost, although both thoughts were screaming for her attention.
At that moment, all her awareness and considerable skill were focused on Benecelli as he began
to edge around the front of the vehicle.
Her partner hesitated just before moving into position for the shot, and it was only then that
Megan heard the terrible whine of the solid-fuel rocket as it sped down the path and into the
passenger side door of the Tahoe. Standing frozen in place, she watched in horror as the
triethylaluminum filler burned its way through the vehicle’s frame like it was made of plastic.
Jagged pieces of metal coated in smouldering particles of TPA embedded themselves deep into
Benecelli’s face and chest, and the last thing she heard were his screams of agony before her
world faded to black.
Page 6
CHAPTER 1
CAPE ELIZABETH, MAINE
It wasn’t an easy climb to the top of the 170-foot slope, especially after an hour-long swim in the
icy waters of the North Atlantic. Nevertheless, Ryan Kealey was pleased to feel only a slight
sense of exertion when he finally reached the small clearing above the cliffs. He took a long
moment to admire the view, then moved off at an easy pace down a gravel footpath. It wasn’t
long before he came across a ragged beach towel draped over a solitary fence post. Using it to
dry his unruly black hair, Kealey continued along the path until the trees parted and the house he
had purchased eleven months earlier came into view. The thoroughly remodeled home stood
three stories tall, with elaborate French doors and windows tucked neatly into the cedar-shingled
exterior. The expensive slate roof was a recent addition, as was the exterior fireplace centered on
the inlaid stone patio. Ryan had done most of the stonework himself, but had contracted out for
the roof. While he was proud of his abilities as a handyman, he recognized that there were
limitations to his skill.
As he approached, the door leading to the kitchen was suddenly flung open, and a young woman
rushed out to envelop him in a ferocious hug.
“Damn it, Ryan, I’ve been looking everywhere for you! I’ve got some news you definitely don’t
want to hear,” she said with an infectious grin.
Kealey smiled back, charmed as always by her youthful exuberance. “Then I know you’ll save us
both the trouble and keep it to yourself,” he said with a laugh.
She bounced alongside of him as he moved through the open door into the warm interior of the
house.
“You’ll never believe it,” she said breathlessly. “I overheard the dean saying that your attendance
record is even worse than that of your ‘most consistently inebriated student,’ were his exact
words, I think, and then he said—”
“Katie.” He interrupted her excited rambling with gentle good humor. “I need that job even less
than he wants me there. I wouldn’t worry about it.” Kealey occasionally lectured at the
University of Maine as an associate professor of International Relations, but lately just hadn’t
been inclined to make the trip. Although he was becoming increasingly bored with the teaching,
he had to admit that something good had come of it as he surreptitiously glanced at Katie
Donovan out of the corner of his eye.
She was pouting as though put off by his lack of interest in her story, but the theatrics didn’t last
long. “Honey, I’ve been running around since six this morning,” she said. “I’m going to take a
shower.”
“Care for some company?” he asked with a mischievous grin.
“Oh, I see how it is,” she retorted, wearing a knowing smile of her own. “You’re more than
happy to jump in the shower with me, but you couldn’t care less when it comes to hearing about
my day.”
He shrugged. “I guess we’ll just have to compromise. I’ll scrub you down while you tell the
story.”
“‘Scrub me down,’ huh? Is that what you call it now?” He opened his mouth to protest, but she
had already peeled off her T-shirt and tossed it in his face. Then she was running up the stairs,
screaming in mock fear as Ryan followed close on her heels.
Much later, he stood on the second-story balcony with a cup of coffee and stared out across the
frigid gray expanse of the ocean. He watched as the towering thunderheads several miles
offshore seemed to grow at an alarming rate, and could soon feel the strong gusts as they
brought small sprinkles of rain inland. If he strained, he could hear the distant peel of thunder
over the television tuned to MSNBC in the master bedroom. Every major news network had
been providing continuous coverage of the preceding week’s attack in Washington, as they were
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prone to do with any disaster — natural or otherwise. As he sipped the warm coffee, he heard
the screen door slide open and Katie approached from behind, gently wrapping her
wind-tanned forearms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder.
“You’re expecting a call, aren’t you?”
Ryan raised an eyebrow at that. They had been together for only six months, and though they
had once had a short, awkward discussion about the work he used to do, the subject did not
often come up. Once again, he was amazed by how perceptive she could be.
He turned to face her, instinctively reaching out to touch her cheek, smooth beneath waves of
shimmering golden brown. As her troubled blue eyes searched his face, he found he could only
answer truthfully.
“I guess I am. The call is a given. It’s whether I go or not…” He turned to gaze at the
approaching storm. “I just don’t know.”
She leaned in to kiss him gently on the lips.
“Yes, you do.”
Later that evening, Katie left for Orono to attend a night course in physics. From the front door
