Transfer of Power

MUSTAFA YASSIN WAS proud of his work. He doublechecked his progress again and grinned. With satisfaction, he flipped off the power switches on all three drills and backed the bits out of their holes. He had reached the proper depth early.

Yassin did not have the brawn of men like Aziz, but he was smarter than most. The little thief had learned from dealing with men like Saddam to pad his estimates and manage his superiors’ expectations.

The main drill, and largest of the three, sat on a tripod.

Yassin tugged at the base and pulled it back out of the way. The other two drills were magnetized. After wresting them from the door, he sat on his toolbox and lit up a cigarette The plump man inhaled deeply and picked up his radio. He toggled the transmit button and called Aziz.

Aziz was snacking on a sandwich in the galley of the White House mess when he heard the call. Pulling his radio to his mouth, he said, “Mustafa, this is Rafique. What do you want?”

“I am ready for you.”

Aziz set his sandwich down and wiped the crumbs from his fingers.

“Say again.”

“I am ready for you When you arrive, I will proceed with the last part.”

Aziz was elated. “I will be over shortly.” Grabbing his MP5 from the counter, he walked out into the mess and looked over the mass of huddled hostages. There was one person in particular he was looking for. Someone who would elicit the proper emotion from the president. Aziz circled the group looking for the face of Sally Burke, the president’s secretary and mother of five. If the president’s bodyguards chose to fight, Mrs. Burke would be used as a shield. Aziz found her sitting with a group of women.

With his long thin finger, he gestured for her to join him.

Burke pointed to herself nervously and asked, “Me?”

“Yes, you, Mrs. Burke.” Smiling, Aziz extended his hand to help the woman to her feet.

Burke reluctantly grabbed it and stood.

“What do you want with me?”

“Don’t worry. Everything will be all right; we just need you to talk to someone.”

“Who?”

“Don’t worry. Everything will be just fine.” Aziz squeezed her shoulder and again told her not to worry. Then gently he turned her toward the door and led her from the room. Bringing his radio to his mouth, he said, “Muammar, meet me in the pressroom.”