“We stick to the plan,” she says. “It’s bigger than all of us.”

  Chapter

  134

  Agent Ned Mahoney is exhausted; his mind is racing, and he feels like he’s on a roller coaster that’s shuddering on its rails and is about to fly into space. But he’s here, just outside his two-story brick home in Georgetown, away from his busy office, his Impala parked on the street in front of his house.

  He glances at his iPhone, sees the text message from Sampson, the only message that could have gotten him here today:

  NED—AT YOUR HOUSE. HAVE EVIDENCE AND MORE. GET HERE ASAP. COME ALONE. I’LL KILL WHOEVER ELSE SHOWS UP.

  Mahoney walks up the flagstone path, past the carefully maintained shrubbery, notices something on the dark gray stones.

  Blood.

  He squats down, touches one spot. Still sticky. Fresh.

  He goes to the side door, which leads into the kitchen. More blood on the steps.

  He takes out his Glock 19 pistol and gently pushes on the door.

  It swings open.

  The kitchen is empty, but there’s more blood on the white tile floor.

  “John?” he calls out, holding his pistol in both hands.

  “In the den,” John says, sounding tired and stressed. “You alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” John says. “Fair warning, I’m pretty jumpy, so I don’t want to see any weapons, all right? You’re a good friend, Ned, but I just want to see you and empty hands.”

  Ned holsters his pistol. “I understand, John.”

  Mahoney traces the familiar steps toward his den, but nothing seems right; it feels like his home has tilted on its foundation, making everything askew. He walks into his den, his favorite place here at home, and he knows it’ll never, ever be the same.

  John Sampson is sitting in one of the two comfortable leather chairs, one hand holding his pistol, which is resting in his lap. His clothes are worn and soiled. His eyes are puffy and haunted, and there’s gray-black stubble on his gaunt face. On the couch is a woman Ned believes is Elizabeth Deacon. She’s stretched out with her shoes off and her feet on a pile of pillows. Her breathing is slow and rasping. Most of her head is covered by gauze bandages. Her eyes are closed.

  John says, “Have a seat.”

  Mahoney sits and says, “What happened?”

  “She was shot in the head while doing her job,” John says.

  “John, she needs to be in a hospital!”

  He shakes his head. “Sure. Which one? And will she be safe? Alex was in a hospital and he was almost murdered.” He barks out a sharp laugh. “Don’t trust anyone, right? That’s what you told me.”

  Mahoney says, “I did. And the Bureau has on-call medical staff for situations like this. Vital and discreet. Can I text them?”

  John says, “No. Maybe in a few minutes. Too much is at stake now.”

  “You said evidence, John,” Mahoney says. “What is it?”

  On the coffee table between them is an open laptop. John slowly rotates it so Mahoney can see the screen.

  John reaches around it, pushes a key.

  “Here it is,” he says, voice exhausted.

  Chapter

  135

  Ned briefly looks at John’s face as the video begins. It shows General Wayne Grissom sitting in front of two flags, the American flag and the standard of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. From John’s dark expression, Ned is sure he’s seen this video several times before.

  Grissom is sitting behind a polished desk in what looks like the Oval Office, and he’s wearing his formal army blue service uniform, complete with an impressive display of medals and ribbons.

  His voice through the speakers is strong and confident:

  “My fellow Americans, I am General Wayne Grissom, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff of the United States and the country’s senior military official, tasked to defend this nation and its people against all enemies, foreign and domestic.

  “From the time I entered Norwich University and continuing through decades of service, my oath of office has been my constant North Star, a dedication that has never changed, never wavered.

  “Until now.

  “My fellow Americans, we all know, deep in the marrow of our bones, that our great nation has gone astray these past decades. Wars are entered but never won, resulting in billions of dollars lost, thousands dead, and thousands more wounded for life. Giant corporations pay little or nothing in taxes. Big-city politicians are elected and reelected on promises they never keep; bridges collapse, the streets become unsafe, and students leave school almost as ignorant as when they arrived.

  “Our great nation and its Congress are in an unbreakable gridlock, with no chance of improvement on the horizon.

  “Since April, a series of terrorist attacks have tormented our great country. Hundreds are dead, thousands are injured, and the trust and bonds that hold us together as a people are fraying and will soon break.

  “And how has our system of laws and agencies responded to these attacks?

  “We all know that answer.

  “With failure.”

  Chapter

  136

  I see Ned’s eyes narrow and his face darken as he sinks deeper into the chair, staring at the screen with a hard intensity. I know what he’s feeling—his first reaction is that this must be some sort of horrible elaborate joke.

  The highly professional recorded video continues.

  “In reviewing the status of our great nation, as the lead military officer responsible for its safety, I saw that I had two options. I could maintain the status quo, see more deaths, more failures, or I could take a controversial path to save this nation and stop the killing.

  “I have chosen the latter path. Forces under my command today repulsed a last-minute terrorist attack on the president and the White House and have taken control of the building and its grounds.

  “As of this moment, the actions and the authority of the executive branch, Congress, and the Supreme Court have been temporarily suspended. Your trusted military will take command until this national crisis subsides. President Kent is safe in an undisclosed location, and I will confer with him through the days ahead.

  “I have taken this action reluctantly, but I know it is necessary to save this country and its blessed people…”

  On the screen Grissom pauses, coughs, and says, “Shit, sorry to screw that up. Should we start from the beginning?”

  A woman off camera says, “Not a problem, sir, we’ll pick it up from here and edit it in.”

  “Good,” Grissom says on the screen. “Let’s—”

  Enough. I stop the video. “Nice mock-up of the Oval Office, don’t you think?” I ask.

  Ned says, “That son of a bitch. That…John, where did you get this laptop?”

  I say, “From Elizabeth Deacon’s ex-husband, retired general Gerrold Mason. He’s now a vice president at Global Security Services, an arms dealer and manufacturer of a number of black ops over-the-horizon and drone systems.”

  “But that video, how did it get on—”

  “On his laptop?” I say, looking over at the breathing but still unconscious Elizabeth Deacon, knowing I should call in medical help but also knowing I have just minutes to get Ned up to speed. “A few years ago, Mason was assigned by Grissom to the region between Tajikistan and Afghanistan, the area where that village was destroyed two years ago. Destroyed to keep a secret: That Mason and others were assisting cross-country opium smuggling from that location. They made millions of dollars, but they didn’t keep that money for themselves. It was sent to the United States, meant to be used to raise all kinds of hell, and it ended up in a classified account at Homeland Security.”

  Mahoney says, “Homeland Security is behind all of this?”

  I say, “That’s what Elizabeth and I thought and what Alex initially thought. But there are records on the laptop that show the money went to Homeland Security but left within days, assisted by a colonel within the U.S. Army’s Financial Management Command who was on temporary assignment to Homeland Security. Those millions of dollars wound up under Grissom’s control.”

  Mahoney’s eyes widen. “The funds were used to finance the terror groups. But why?”

  I say, “It was simple yet brutal, Ned. Grissom and his trusted people—working with cutouts and various sites on the dark web that would pop up and disappear—gave strategic and financial support to every domestic group that had a grudge against this nation or government. Grissom wanted chaos, death, destruction, and, ultimately, national mistrust, clearing the way for him to take control.”

  “John…”

  I push on. “After seizing control, he’s going to use his new powers to arrest and crush every one of those terrorists. Which will be a cakewalk, since he knows who and where they are and how to take them out.”

  Ned seems to be thinking through what I just said.

  I say, “And you know what? A solid majority of the American people will rally around him for finally ending the terrorist threat. Everything else will be minor. Most Americans want to be able to go to work and send their children to school without having to worry about anyone being blown up by a car bomb.”

  “How do you know that, John?”

  “Mason told me.”

  “Are you sure he was telling the truth?”

  I say, “I shot out the window of his tenth-floor office and dangled him out of it. After he shit and pissed himself, yeah, he showed me the documents on his laptop and thumb drives. He was telling the truth, Ned.”

  “My God…”

  I say, “Ned, at noon today, General Grissom is going to the White House to overthrow the government of the United States. What do we do?”

  Chapter

  137

  In a private conference room adjacent to his office, General Wayne Grissom reviews the orders that will be issued later today after his recorded message is broadcast to the nation and the world.

  There’s a soft knock on the door, and Colonel Kendricks comes in. She, too, is dressed in army BDUs, and she has a pistol holstered to her belt.

  He says, “Yes?”

  “The body’s been removed. CID is beginning its investigation, and they took your pistol to fire a test cartridge to compare it with the empty cartridge case on your office floor. It’ll be a match, of course.”

  “Of course,” Grissom says. He won’t say it to Kendricks, but he has a throbbing headache right behind his eyes. “But it won’t make any difference, will it.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Any change in the status of the other chiefs?”

  “No, sir,” she says. “General Bouchard of the air force is still in Tokyo, Admiral Barnes is in Singapore, General Signorello is at NSA Naples, and General Krantz is at Cape Canaveral.”

  “Good,” he says, looking again at the pile of orders on the desk; they just need his signature to be official. “I’ll only have to deal with their deputies once we’re at the White House, which will be a plus. But we have a full day ahead of us, Colonel.”

  Colonel Kendricks slowly takes a seat without asking for permission. He lets this breach of military etiquette slide. “Are you all right, Kendricks?”

  She smiles. “Last-minute jitters, I guess. Like your first step off an aircraft on your first parachute jump. You hope everything in the chute works, that the jumpmaster dropped you over the right zone, that you won’t land in a power line and get zapped or be impaled by a tall pine.”

  Grissom says, “Kendricks, we’ve planned this for more than two years. We’ve run tabletop drills and field tests, and every eventuality has been addressed.”

  “Still…”

  He goes on, voice confident. “The people are tired, frustrated, angry. They don’t trust the president, Congress, or the media. The nation is divided, crumbling, and we’re steps away from armed insurrection by various different populations. There’s only one organization that consistently remains popular among the American people year after year, and you and I belong to it.”

  “I know,” she says. “Their support is what I’m counting on.”

  Grissom says, “And the people are used to the military coming in to provide assistance. After a hurricane, who’s there? The navy or the army. Rioters burn a city down? The National Guard is there, providing security and food. Who helps control the borders, who interdicts drug dealers, who seizes criminals overseas? We do. Believe me, Colonel, the people are aching for strong leadership, and we’re going to give it to them.”

  Grissom knows the love and admiration his aide has for him, and his headache fades.

  She now seems at ease.

  “Thank you for the pep talk, sir.”

  “Not a problem,” he says.

  Kendricks gets up and heads to the door. “Your ride to the White House will be ready in an hour, sir.”

  Chapter

  138

  I say, “A bit more evidence to make your day, Ned,” and I scatter four thumb drives taken from Mason’s office across the coffee table like I’m playing some horrific game of dice.

  “Plans for military and intelligence operatives to conduct media monitoring across all network and cable news channels as well as social media accounts,” I say. “Establishment of preventive detention centers, where certain celebrities and media influencers will be sent.”

  “Arrested, you mean?”

  “No, they’re too smart for that,” I say. “Preventive detention for their own safety, of course. There are other lists of members of the news media who will be placed in preventive detention or who will have military escorts at work. Oh, and lists of those to be arrested.”

  Ned’s voice is strained. “How many?”

  “Thousands, not including the terror cells. That’s an entirely different file, people from nearly every state in the union and organizations from right-wing militias to Black Lives Matter–type groups to environmentalists.”

  “Who else will be arrested?”

  “Too many to point out, Ned,” I say. “But I’m on the list, and so is Alex Cross, and so are members of his family.”

  Ned shakes his head. “It’s like a nightmare. Impossible to believe.”

  I say, “Well, believe this, Ned. Most of the FBI’s management is on that list. Including you.”

  Chapter

  139

  Sylvester is maneuvering the two-axle Mack integrated tow truck along the crowded streets of the District of Columbia as his passenger, Casey, calls out directions from a handwritten sheet of paper. Crude, but sheets of paper can’t be hacked or traced.

  “Okay,” Casey says. “Turn left at the next light.”

  Sylvester says, “If this traffic doesn’t clear up in ten minutes, we’re not going to meet our deadline.”

  “I told you we should have left an hour earlier.”

  “And get to the target an hour ahead of time, drive around in circles, and get asked by the Metro Police or Secret Service why we’re hanging out near the White House?”

  “We could have parked somewhere.”

  “And get ticketed or rousted?”

  The light turns red. Sylvester stops, swears.

  Casey says, “In the next couple of minutes, we’re gonna need a miracle.”

  Chapter

  140

  Casey’s miracle occurs fifty-eight seconds later.

  It starts with a phone call from a U.S. Army colonel at the Pentagon to the chief of the DC Metro Police on his office’s private line.

  In a crisp and clear voice, the colonel says, “Chief, please retrieve a hard copy of your external operational plan manual. Let me know when you have it in hand.”

  The chief nearly chokes on his late-morning latte and spends a few frantic moments looking for the thin volume, which he finds stuck between two old budget binders on an upper shelf in his office. He tugs out the dusty book, recalling the first time he read it and how it had chilled him. It contains the Metro Police’s procedures for responding to a variety of apocalyptic events, from a chemical attack to nuclear war.

  “I…I’ve got it, Colonel.”

  “Open it to page nineteen.”

  He flips through the old pages. “Got it.”

  “You are to institute Operation Wrangler immediately,” the colonel says. “Your code word to activate Operation Wrangler is Omaha. Does that match?”

  “Yes, yes, it does,” the chief says.

  “Good,” the colonel says. “Proceed as ordered.”

  “Wait, wait,” the chief says. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

  The colonel says, “No,” and hangs up.

  The chief quickly makes two phone calls. The first is to tell the head of dispatch to get orders for Operation Wrangler transmitted to his on-duty officers.

  The second is to tell his wife, Tracy, to take the girls out of school and get the hell out of DC.

  Chapter

  141

  Ned says, “What about the Secret Service?”

  “What about them?” John says. “Ned, they’re tasked with physically protecting the president, not the office of the presidency. They’ll keep President Kent safe, but they can’t protect his authority and powers.”

  “But Congress—”

  John touches another thumb drive. “The leaders of both houses and their deputies will be detained as well.”

  “Well, before they start making arrests at the Hoover Building, I can—”

  “Ned, you know who’s not on the list? The director of the FBI.”

  Ned feels like he’s been punched in the throat.

  John looks up at the wall clock in the den. “You’re friends with the mayor, right?”