Takedown

He had brought along a stack of novels that he couldn’t wait to dive into. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be able to do that until tomorrow, after the daily presidential briefing that happened every morning, no matter where in the world he was. Right now, though, he had to “sing” for his supper, as his old friend had put it. It was just a small gathering. Only about fifty people, many of whom, thanks to Cummings’s fundraising prowess, had been major contributors to his recent presidential campaign. Cocktails and light hors d’oeuvres and then he was off the hook. Then he could really relax for the next three days.

The only thing that would have made the holiday weekend perfect was if his daughter Amanda had been there with him, but it was summertime, she was growing up, and she had friends of her own.

Knowing the president would be tired, Rodger had been kind enough to start the party early. The brilliant white pier in front of the large house, which had once belonged to an Illinois railroad tycoon, jutted out into the warm, spring-fed waters of the lake. It had been tastefully decorated by Mrs. Cummings with fresh flowers, potted palms, and small wicker lanterns. The guests stood talking on the end of the pier near a group of bright blue Adirondack chairs as well as on the expansive aft deck of the estate’s magnificent sixty-foot 1915 steamship, the Jolly Rodger.

Rutledge made it a point to invite Meg Cassidy, who was also a Chicago resident and Lake Geneva homeowner, to the estate whenever he came to town. Meg had done a particularly significant service to her country when, as a civilian, she had agreed to help track down one of the world’s most dangerous terrorists. Without her ability to ID the faceless terrorist, the United States might never have stopped him.

Meg brought along her new fiancé, and while he seemed a decent enough man, he definitely didn’t have the charisma of Scot Harvath. The president had always been sorry that the two of them hadn’t been able to work things out. They still seemed perfectly suited for each other, but with the demands of both of their careers, he also saw that their breakup just might have been inevitable.

The trio was enjoying a pleasant conversation when the head of the president’s security detail, Carolyn Leonard, discreetly approached. She apologized for the interruption and then whispered into the president’s ear. Immediately, Rutledge’s entire body stiffened.

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking first Meg’s hand and then her fiancé’s. “A situation has come up and I have to leave.”

“I hope it’s not serious,” said Meg, but the president had already been joined by several more agents from his Secret Service detail and was being escorted off the Jolly Rodger.

“What’s going on, Carolyn?” asked Rutledge as he looked over and saw the wet-suited SEAL Team that augmented his maritime activities surface with their weapons at the ready.

“ New York has been hit,” replied Leonard.

“What do you mean, hit?”

“I have very few details at this point, Mr. President. I think it would be better if your own people briefed you on that once we’re in the air.”

Rutledge didn’t want to wait until they were in the air. He wanted answers now, especially considering the fact that his daughter was spending the holiday weekend with friends on Long Island. But as he turned to put the question of Amanda’s well-being to his chief Secret Service agent, the rotors of his rapidly approaching helicopter quickly made talking impossible.

Fourteen

NEW YORK CITY

With traffic at an absolute standstill, Harvath threw twenty bucks onto the front seat of the cab, and he and Bob jumped out.

According to Herrington, they were only about six blocks away from the VA, and so they decided to make that their destination.

In every bar and restaurant they ran past, people were glued to the televisions and scenes of the devastating explosion on the Queensboro Bridge.

When they arrived at the VA, the lobby was in chaos. Everyone, including the VA police, was huddled around the television sets. Bob led Harvath through the crowd and upstairs to the office of Dr. Sam Hardy. Hardy was in his late forties, tall and fit. He was balding and had a look in his eyes that suggested he’d been around the block more than a few times.

Hardy looked up from the TV set on his desk when Harvath and Herrington entered and said to Bob, “It looks like multiple attacks.”

“Multiple?” asked Harvath as Bob introduced him to Dr. Hardy. “We just heard about the Queensboro Bridge. There have been more?”

Hardy nodded his head. “The reports are just starting to come in, but it looks like all of the bridges and all of the tunnels into and out of Manhattan have been hit.”

Harvath was at a loss for words. He stood there with his mouth agape as they watched the television on Hardy’s desk. Finally, he stated, “I guess now maybe we know why they wanted to draw off the tactical teams.”