Jemison looks toward his officers for support and I see his hand move again to his holster, and I lift up my M4—

  “Halt this, right now!” comes a loud male voice. “Stand down, all of you!”

  And like something from an action movie, General Wayne Grissom, accompanied by another military officer and four men wearing black fatigues and body armor and carrying M4s like mine, start coming right at us like they own the joint.

  Ned whispers, “So far, so good. What now?”

  “The same as before,” I say. “Grissom doesn’t get past.”

  Chapter

  157

  Among the many talents a general officer needs is the ability to negotiate, whether with illiterate tribal leaders or an ignorant Congress or an even stupider SecDef, and General Wayne Grissom has this ability. He immediately takes in the scene and checks his watch.

  Three minutes to go.

  All right, he thinks, getting past these two should be easy, and if we lose a minute or two, it won’t make that much of a difference. He’s still getting to the White House and taking control.

  The four Pentagon Police officers move to the side, and Colonel Kendricks keeps pace with him, as do the four heavily armed Pentagon Force Protection Agency members who are shadowing him.

  He steps ahead of the four Pentagon officers, puts his hands on his hips, and says, “Well? What seems to be the problem?”

  The Black man on the right, the one with an M4, says, “General, the problem seems to be treason. Which is why you’re not going forward and you’re not getting to the White House.”

  Once in Iraq, a Humvee driving in front of Grissom hit a land mine, and the shock and overpressure that struck his head and gut back then is nothing compared to what he feels now.

  How does he know?

  He looks closely and recognizes the man, a DC police detective who had attended some of the principals’ meetings when the president was so desperate to defeat the terrorist attacks. Sampson—John Sampson, that’s who he is.

  Grissom shakes it off. “Detective, you’ve obviously gotten some disinformation sent your way. May I ask who your companion is? And who’s in charge?”

  The other man says, “Ned Mahoney, FBI. Neither of us is in charge. Believe it or not, we’re having interagency cooperation here.”

  “That’s nice, but you can’t stop me,” Grissom says. “Move, right now.”

  Sampson says, “So far, we are stopping you. Noon is kickoff time, right? You’re going to stand here and wait while noon slips by. Ned and I have a funny idea about the Constitution. We feel once you’ve sworn an oath to it, it’s your duty to defend it. Guess you’ve forgotten that, General Grissom.”

  Colonel Kendricks speaks up. “You two, you don’t have the right to hold the general anywhere! He’s got to get to the White House. The country needs him.”

  Sampson shakes his head, says, “If the nation really needs him, there’ll be a Draft Grissom movement at the next political convention. In the meantime, you’re an officer in the U.S. Army. Which is under civilian control. Not the other way around.”

  Kendricks says, “You fools, this man has sacrificed everything for this country—blood, sweat, tears. He can’t—”

  Grissom gently takes hold of Kendricks’s right wrist. “That’s enough, Colonel.” He lets go of her arm, nods to the two men.

  “We seem to have reached an impasse,” Grissom says. “No matter. We’ll reverse course and find another route.”

  Grissom thinks, And fast, because all the other pieces are falling into place at this very moment.

  Chapter

  158

  After the general says he intends to move, I say, “Ned, you’re up.”

  Ned says, “I’m sorry, General, we can’t allow you to leave.”

  Grissom stops in midturn. “What?”

  Ned says, “I’m sorry to say this, sir, but no, you can’t leave.”

  The general’s expression twists as he reacts to a word he’s not used to hearing: No.

  “The hell I can’t,” he says. “There’s nothing on earth that’s going to keep me here.”

  Ned says, “Well, U.S. code title eighteen is going to do its very best, sir. General Grissom, you’re under arrest for violating eighteen U.S. code section 1956, laundering of monetary instruments; eighteen U.S. code section 2381, treason; and eighteen U.S. code section 2384, seditious conspiracy. And that’s just the beginning. Sir, I ask you to remove your protective force as I place you into custody.”

  Ned steps away from the Impala, one hand holding the pump-action shotgun, the other a dangling pair of handcuffs, and I know what’s going through the minds of Grissom and his entourage: This isn’t part of the plan!

  Good.

  I keep my position but I wonder how long Ned can stand like this, exposed and vulnerable. Grissom says in a steel-hard voice, “Agent Mahoney, this is intolerable. There are decisions to be made and forces on the move that are way, way above your job title.”

  He turns to the four well-armed members of his security force and makes a motion, and they slide back to the protection of the parked Chevrolet Suburbans. The four Pentagon officers, seeing what’s going on, move back to the cover of their cruisers. The female army colonel stays with him.

  “Ned,” I say.

  But Ned walks out, one firm step at a time. Grissom says, “Not one step closer, Agent Mahoney.” Grissom looks at his watch, frowns.

  We’re screwing up his schedule, I think. Outstanding.

  The general says, “You have five seconds to remove yourself and your vehicle from this position. At the end of that time, if you two haven’t moved, I will tell my protective force that I am in fear for my life, and they will respond appropriately. Do you understand?”

  I have the M4 in my hands. I aim and stare right back.

  “Five,” Grissom begins.

  Behind me, I hear the thump-thump-thump of explosives. I don’t turn around.

  “Four,” Grissom says.

  I say, “Ned, you’re a brave soul, but please come back here.”

  Ned says, “Not a chance. I’m arresting the general.”

  “Three.”

  Ned keeps on walking to Grissom, and in my peripheral vision, I see people lining up on the sidewalk, curious to see what the hell is going on. I want to tell them to back off, but no, if this slides into violence, I want witnesses to tell their children what happened this day.

  “Two.”

  Ned says, “General Grissom, I’m placing you under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney.”

  Grissom’s security force and the Pentagon Police raise their weapons. I aim straight at Grissom’s forehead, and as soon as he gets to one and orders his men to open fire, I plan to drill a round right into the middle of that smug, traitorous face.

  I think, Bree, I sure hope you got that last text.

  I see Grissom’s lips beginning to form the last number. My finger slides onto the trigger, and from behind me comes the loud rumble of diesel engines.

  I keep staring at Grissom, and the shocked look on the general’s face makes it all worthwhile.

  Even Ned has stopped walking. He quickly turns and looks behind me with relief.

  Chapter

  159

  When he sees two desert-tan army Humvees coming to a halt behind the parked Impala and the vendor truck, Grissom thinks, This isn’t part of the plan. They’re not supposed to be deployed until this evening to enforce the curfew.

  The doors open, and eight National Guardsmen are walking his way, seven of them armed with M4s, the eighth one an officer leading them. He’s a slim Black man, uniform crisp and clean, wearing body armor, a utility belt, a holstered pistol, and a soft utility cap. As the man passes the Impala and steps closer, Grissom spots his colonel insignia and his last name, TOUSSANT.

  The colonel salutes and Grissom salutes back. The man says, “General, I’m Colonel Lionel Toussant, Two Hundred Seventy-Sixth Military Police Company, Three Hundred Seventy-Second Military Police Battalion, District of Columbia, Army National Guard.”

  Grissom smiles, shakes the man’s hand. “Colonel Toussant, General Wayne Grissom.”

  With a grin in return, Toussant says, “I know who you are, sir.”

  “Good,” Grissom says. “Glad to see you here. Colonel, I need you to place those two men over by the Impala under arrest, get that car out of the way, and then—”

  Colonel Toussant’s smile disappears. “I’m sorry, sir, those aren’t my orders.”

  Two more Humvees hauling trailers come to a stop. Other National Guardsmen go to the trailers, undo the canvas coverings, and start removing large coils of barbed wire and wooden sawhorses. They quickly set up the sawhorses, and the rolls of barbed wire are undone and pulled apart.

  “Colonel,” Grissom says, voice strained, “what are your orders?”

  The colonel says, “My orders are to secure the streets and grounds around the White House. No vehicle and no persons are allowed into the area under our control.”

  Grissom says, “I’m countermanding those orders right now. I want this street cleared and access provided to my party and me.”

  Toussant says, “I’m sorry, sir, I can’t do it. I have my orders.”

  Grissom says sharply, “And I’m overriding those orders. Do it now, Colonel Toussant!”

  The colonel shakes his head. “With all due respect, General Grissom, you’re not in my chain of command. I’m sure you’ll recall, General, that we are the only National Guard unit that reports directly to the president. He is our commander in chief, and he has activated us and ordered us to place the White House under a cordon sanitaire.”

  Grissom clenches his fists. “It’s my understanding that the president can no longer communicate with the outside.”

  “We’re working on that, sir,” the colonel says. “But before he lost those communications, he talked to our mayor, and she requested the National Guard’s activation to protect the White House against a possible insurrection.”

  Grissom stares in anger at the cocky and confident colonel standing in front of him. This colonel reminds him of those rules-based JAG officers back in Afghanistan. When his artillery units received a target designation, the lawyers from JAG had to verify the target to ensure no civilian or collateral damage occurred. A normal fire mission that should have taken only three minutes could stretch out for half an hour before JAG and other higher-ups signed off on it.

  Hell of a way to run a fire mission, run an army, run an operation to save this nation.

  More Humvees pull up and discharge National Guard soldiers. In his mind’s eye, Grissom can see similar detachments going to other intersections around the White House and occupying Lafayette Park and the Ellipse.

  “General,” Colonel Kendricks whispers to him, “what are we going to do?”

  He’s starting to taste the bitterness of defeat in his mouth, and he sees Colonel Toussant and the FBI man deep in conversation. One of the Guardsmen is holding the FBI man’s shotgun, and Colonel Toussant nods and takes three steps to Grissom and his aide.

  “General,” Toussant says. “Again, my apologies, but FBI supervising special agent Ned Mahoney has informed me that he intends to place you under arrest. That is not in my jurisdiction, so I’m going to allow him to proceed while my unit deploys.”

  The FBI agent is close enough that Grissom can see the light reflecting off the bright handcuffs, and for the first time in a very long while, he is at a loss for words.

  But someone else is not.

  His wrist is seized by Colonel Kendricks, and she yells, “Everybody freeze, right now!”

  In her other hand is her nine-millimeter pistol.

  Chapter

  160

  Sylvester is concerned because when he reaches the White House grounds, his two contacts—a man and a woman, both dressed in Park Service uniforms—are not at their preplanned locations by a certain lamppost.

  Either they’re late or they’re not coming.

  Casey says, “Where in hell are Frick and Frack?”

  “I don’t know,” Sylvester says, “but that’s not going to stop us. Might slow us down, but we’re still doing the job.”

  Casey says, “That’s the spirit. Let’s do it.”

  There’s no traffic on Pennsylvania Avenue, so Sylvester easily maneuvers the large tow truck, glancing with a practiced eye into the side-view mirrors to execute a turn.

  He shifts into reverse and is about to gently press the accelerator when two men wearing helmets and army fatigues step up on the running boards, one on each side.

  The one next to Sylvester raps the window with a closed fist, and Casey says, “Don’t do it, don’t do it,” but Sylvester lowers the window. The guy in fatigues says, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “My job,” Sylvester replies. He sees other soldiers gathering along the sidewalk.

  “What the fuck kind of job is that?”

  Sylvester starts to speak, but the soldier interrupts him. “Look, bud, I don’t see any disabled trucks or cars in the area. Turn around and get the hell out.”

  “Not happening,” Sylvester says. “I’ve got a job to do.”

  The soldier says, “Yeah, and I got a job to do too. Nobody is allowed on this street—nobody. And you ain’t somebody, so get the hell out. Now.”

  Sylvester glances over at Casey, who slightly shakes his head no.

  The soldier adds, “Just to show you how fucking serious this is, we’re authorized to use deadly force. That get your attention? Now move!”

  Again Sylvester looks at Casey, and in a low quiet voice, Casey says, “Screw ’em. They’re weekend soldiers. They won’t dare shoot. Come on, back ’er up.”

  “You sure?”

  “Christ, I’m sure,” Casey says. “They’re just play soldiers. They won’t shoot.”

  Sylvester is filled with confidence; he nods and puts the heavy truck in reverse.

  Less than ten seconds later, Sylvester is lying on the seat, broken glass on his face and chest, feeling his wounds bleed out. His last thought is that he shouldn’t have listened to Casey.

  Chapter

  161

  With the arrival of the DC National Guard units, I feel the tight band around my chest loosen. The desperate phone call Ned made from his house to the DC mayor is paying off. I lower my M4, then put it on the trunk of Ned’s Impala. More people and one TV camera crew are on the crowded sidewalks watching this drama unfold.

  And what a drama it is. The National Guard colonel is standing with Ned, and Ned is carrying a set of handcuffs. Grissom’s Pentagon Police and security service have backed off and lowered their weapons, and things seem under control.

  Except for the angry colonel standing next to General Grissom, pistol in her right hand.

  Nobody is moving.

  The scene is frozen.

  I walk around the trunk of the Impala and head toward General Grissom and the colonel standing next to him. Her pistol is now pointing straight at me.

  Not the first time in my life this has happened.

  Then I’m stunned when I hear someone call out from the growing line of National Guard members, “You go, Big John! We got your back!”

  I don’t turn. I keep slowly advancing, but despite what I’m facing—an angry army officer aiming her pistol at me—I’m incredibly calm and peaceful. A friend of mine is back there in the National Guard force, and most of them there, defending their city, their White House, and their president, are the most overlooked workers in and around DC. They’re engineers, clerks, beauticians, hotel staff, sanitation workers, IT professionals, and people of so many other professions, now one unit, one force, the District of Columbia National Guard.

  Nicknamed the Capital Guardians, for obvious reasons.

  I step closer, hands up, and say, “Good afternoon, Colonel Kendricks. Hell of a situation we’ve got here, eh?”

  The pistol doesn’t waver. “You’re Sampson, right? Detective with the DC Metro Police?”

  “That’s right, Colonel. Good memory.”

  Voice sharp, she says, “You and your FBI friend had no right to stop General Grissom from performing his mission. No right!”

  I take two more steps, empty hands held up, face friendly. “You may be correct, Colonel, but that’s up to others to decide. In the meantime, what’s your first name? You can call me John if you’d like.”

  She shakes her head. Grissom says, “Colonel, you are to—”

  “General, please,” she says. “I know what I’m doing.” Her eyes narrow. “And I know what the detective wants. He wants my first name to establish some sort of rapport with me, get me to trust his intentions. To hell with that.”

  I say, “Pretty smart, Colonel, but I’ll tell you my intentions straight up, name or no name. It’s to dial down this situation, relax things so no one gets hurt.”

  “And how do you plan to do that?”

  “Well, maybe you can put your pistol down, reduce the chance of an accidental shooting. That’d be a nice start.”

  She laughs. “And what do I get in return? I’ll tell you—I get arrested, right? But armed like this, I still hold a wild card.”

  Colonel Toussant and Ned are standing still, watching.

  I say, “All right, I’ll concede that. You hold a wild card. What do you plan to do with it?”

  “Get you all to back away, move the vehicles, and allow General Grissom to get to the White House.”