High Alert

CHAPTER 2

The sinking of USS California leaked before noon. The White House Press Secretary announced that a rescue mission had been dispatched from Japan. He went on to say that, Rice would talk later in the day with the President of China to discuss "regional stability," and that the Chinese ambassador had been invited to the White House to participate in the call.

By two o'clock there were more than a thousand people outside the barriers on Pennsylvania Avenue in front of the White House. They carried homemade signs protesting nuclear weapons, climate change, and the Chinese occupation of Tibet. An hour later new signs appeared, printed to look as though they were homemade. Those called for the withdrawal of U.S. troops from South Korea.

The weather had warmed and turned the snow to slush underfoot. Nick and the others waited where East Street intersected 17th on the west side of the White House grounds. The Secret Service wasn't happy about their presence but there wasn't much they could do about it. Rice wanted Nick and the others on hand and that was the end of it.

Movable barriers manned by city police blocked all the cross streets. Ambassador Li would come up 17th from Constitution Avenue, avoiding the growing mob on Pennsylvania Avenue. From there he would enter the White House grounds on E, turn onto West Executive Avenue and go through the Southwest appointment gate, continuing until he reached the entrance to the West Wing.

Selena was already inside. Agents had taken her straight to the situation room, where President Rice would take Zhang's call.

Nick and Ronnie stood watching the scene. Lamont walked over, his hands crammed deep in the pockets of his coat. He wore a woolen watch cap and had a thick scarf wrapped around his neck.

"I feel like a fifth wheel," he said. "They don't want us here."

He gestured at two Secret Service agents nearby. They looked as though they'd sprung from the same pod, both hatless and wearing dark overcoats, polished shoes spattered by slush, sunglasses and earpieces trailing white, coiled cords from their ears. They did their best to ignore Nick and the others. The feeling was mutual.

"You can't blame them," Nick said. "They've got their job to do. As far as they're concerned, we're just one more thing to keep an eye on."

Ronnie said. "At least most of the crowd is out front."

Lamont pointed at a growing crowd of about a hundred people standing on the other side of the police barrier where E Street intersected 17th before it entered the White House grounds.

"Yeah, but some of them figured out that the action might be down here."

"They look cold," Ronnie said. "Check out the Asian guy standing in front. He's bundled up like he thinks he's in Alaska."

One of the Secret Service agents touched his earpiece and said something. He and his partner looked south toward Constitution Avenue.

"Heads up," Nick said. "The Chinese ambassador is getting close."

A black limousine turned onto 17th Street. Flags of the Chinese People's Republic flew from the front fenders. Across the way, there was a ripple in the crowd waiting on the other side of the barrier. They began shouting and waving signs.

"Free Tibet! Free Tibet! Free Tibet!"

The limousine slowed to turn onto the White House grounds. The bundled man Ronnie had pointed out suddenly leapt over the portable barrier. He ran toward the car, threw himself on the hood, and vanished in a violent explosion of sound and flame.

The blast knocked Nick off his feet. The wreckage of the limo coasted a few feet and stopped. A great balloon of black smoke billowed up toward the gray sky overhead.

Nick braced his hand on the wet ground and got up on one knee. Lamont stumbled over and helped him up. He was saying something. Nick watched his lips move but couldn't hear anything.

Nick pointed at his ear. "I can't hear you." His voice was a muffled echo inside his head.

The smoking remains of the ambassador's limousine looked as though someone had reached down with a giant hand and ripped it open. The top was peeled back like the lid of a tin can. Nothing remained of the interior but twisted metal coated with blood and bits of flesh. The doors were blown open. An unattached foot wearing a shiny shoe lay nearby on the pavement. Blood trickled from the open doors.

There were flecks of blood on Nick's coat. Across the way, some of the demonstrators stood dazed while others moved aimlessly in shock. Someone was on her knees, crying. There were bodies lying on the ground. One of the Secret Service agents was down, his partner yelling into his microphone.

Somewhere, a siren sounded.