By Order of the President

Chapter XI

[ONE]

On Interstate 95

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

0915 9 June 2005

The unmarked car Commissioner Kellogg had ordered delivered to the Counterterrorism Bureau-so far as Castillo could tell, it was identical to the commissioner's car-was moving at ten miles per hour over the speed limit as they drove I-95 along the Delaware River.

Castillo was in the backseat. Miller had elbowed him out of the way to claim the front seat.

"I really hope you can keep your mouth shut, Sergeant Schneider," Castillo said.

"You can call me Betty, if you like," she said. "And, yes, I know how to keep my mouth shut."

"I'd like that," Castillo said. "How about the boyfriend last night?"

"Jesus Christ, Charley!" Miller said.

"I want to make the point that I don't want you confiding in your boyfriend, either," Castillo said.

"I'll tell him I can't talk about this," she said. "He'll be pi: He won't like it but he'll understand. He's a cop."

"Good."

"He's a lieutenant in Highway Patrol. And he's not my boyfriend, he's my brother," Betty said.

"He was a very convincing jealous boyfriend last night," Castillo said.

"I hope the international Mafia thought so," Betty said, and then asked, "Are you now going to tell me what this is all about?"

"You'll pick up more than you have to know from listening to me on the phone," Castillo said.

"You're going to call him on your cell?" Miller asked.

"Unless you happen to know where we can find a convenient secure phone," Castillo said as he put his phone to his ear.

A moment later, he said, "I need to talk to him right now, Mrs. Kellenhamp "Where is he? "What's he doing at Camp David? "How do I call Camp David? Maybe it would be better if you called him there and asked him to call me on my cellular "You're right. It'd be better to go through the White House "If he calls, please ask him if he's talked to me, and, if he hasn't, to please call me right away. This is important."

He took the cellular phone from his ear and punched another autodial number.

"My name is Castillo. I'm Secretary Hall's executive assistant. You can verify my identity by calling Mrs. Kellenhamp at Secretary Hall's office. You have the number. He's at Camp David. Patch me through to him, please."

He took the cellular from his ear.

"They'll check," he announced. "I wonder what's going on at Camp David?"

He put the phone back to his ear and mumbled, "Guess they didn't check," then said louder, "Yes, sir. Sir, I wouldn't normally call you there but another problem has come up "Sir, the commissioner is being more than helpful, but at four-fifteen tomorrow afternoon he's going to tell the mayor what we think may happen to the Liberty Bell "Sir, he doesn't want to cause panic and he doesn't want to cry wolf. He's afraid if the mayor-the mayor's staff-hears anything at all about this, it will get leaked to the press. But he can't stall indefinitely "Yes, sir. I should have thought about this. I don't know why the hell I didn't "Yes, sir. Four-fifteen tomorrow afternoon "We're on our way to talk to the people who own Lease-Aire, sir. They gave us a sergeant and a car. And Chief Inspector Kramer, who runs their Counterterrorism Bureau, is trying to make contact with somebody-maybe more than one person-he has inside the black groups who may have heard something relative to what Pevsner was talking about "I don't know how long that will take, sir "Yes, sir, the minute I hear anything "Yes, sir. Sir, I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news "Thank you, sir. When are we going to have word about Abeche? "I understand, sir."

He took the telephone from his ear and exhaled audibly.

"He says he's going to have to tell the president about the commissioner's 1615 deadline," Castillo said.

"Jesus!" Miller said.

"What is the commissioner going to tell the mayor at four-fifteen tomorrow?" Sergeant Schneider asked.

Castillo looked toward the front of the car and saw that Sergeant Schneider had adjusted the rearview mirror so that she could look at him.

He met her eyes in the mirror and thought she had eyes that were at once attractive and intelligent.

"That we think there is a possibility-operative word possibility -that a group of Somalian terrorists who call themselves the Holy Legion of Muhammad, and who may-operative word may -have stolen a Boeing 727 in Luanda may-repeat, may-try to crash it into the Liberty Bell."

"My God! You're serious!"

"I'm afraid so."

"I knew this was important when the commissioner gave you a new unmarked car," she said. "But nothing like that. The Liberty Bell? Why would they want to do that?"

"Two theories," Miller said. "One is that they think it's an important symbol to America, much more so than most of us think it is. And the second-sort of tied in with the first-is that somebody in Philadelphia told these people they should hit the Liberty Bell."

"What we're trying to find out is if there is some link between Lease-Aire and the terrorists or between anybody else in Philadelphia and the terrorists," Castillo continued. "If we can do that, then maybe we can find out exactly what they're planning and when. That's why we're going to the airport, to talk to the Lease-Aire people."

The Ford suddenly accelerated.

Miller glanced over at the speedometer.

"We don't want to get pinched for speeding, Sergeant," he said.

"There's blue flashers under the grille," she said. "If there's a Highway Patrol car out here, he'll see them."

"Or die young in a fiery crash," Miller said. "You're going almost ninety."

She laughed.

"Relax," she said. "And you can call me Betty, too. I thought I told you."

Castillo saw her eyes on him in the rearview mirror.

"Chief Kramer said you were a Secret Service supervisory agent," she said.

"I am."

"You told the White House operator-I assume that was the White House operator:?"

"It was."

": that you were Secretary Hall's executive assistant."

"I am."

"Curiouser and curiouser," she said and returned her attention to the road.

The corporate headquarters of Lease-Aire, Inc., was on the second floor of an unimpressive two-story, concrete-block building attached to the end of an old and somewhat run-down hangar on a remote corner of Philadelphia International Airport.

There was a sign-it looked as if it had been printed on a computer's ink-jet printer-on the steel door announcing, CLOSED DUE TO