Transfer of Power

PRESIDENT HAYES FINISHED writing a note to himself and said, “It was good talking to you. Harry. I appreciate your help on this. Thanks.”

Hayes hung up the phone and stood.

From the back of his chair, he grabbed his suit coat and put it on. The president tugged at each sleeve once and then buttoned the top button of the dark coat. Smiling, he stepped out from behind his desk, and with Valerie Jones at his side, he said, “Prince Kalib, it is an honor to finally meet you.”

Rafique Aziz rose from the couch and smiled his first honest smile all morning. Subtly, he crossed his hands in front of his waist, letting his right hand fall on the wrist of his left. Aziz felt for the button, not wanting to take his eyes off the president.

He had practiced it so many times and dreamt about it thousands of times more. This was how he had always thought it would be. The so-American gesture of shaking hands. It was the perfect opportunity to strike. He had been right to wait for the president to come to him. Aziz’s smile broadened even further as his index finger circled the face of the watch once, searching for the proper button. He found it and pressed it twice.

Then his hand moved casually to his belt, a feeling of ecstasy washing over him as his hostage approached.