“You haven’t been on the White House beat very long, have you?” Blair asked.

“No, but I’ve been a reporter for quite a long time.”

“An unusual one. It usually takes reporters a long time to discover they’ll learn a lot more if they start a conversation rather than an inquisition.”

Viv laughed, understanding exactly why the country loved the first daughter. She was beautiful and charming and perceptive. “I totally agree. Let’s talk.”

*

Jane built a tripod out of rocks and packed ice and snow around the base for extra stability. She set up her rifle and sighted on the tracks. The rails jumped into view within the circle of the scope. Mid-distance shot. No challenge.

She pulled out the battery packs she’d kept warm inside her jacket, close to her body, and inserted them into the drones. The electronics came to life at the push of a button. The remotes checked out. Her cell phone was edging into the low power zone—probably dying from the cold—but the burn phone battery was full. Fifteen minutes and the train should be within range. Visibility had improved over the past hour as the sky lightened and the blowing snow relented. Her window of opportunity would be short, but she didn’t need long. She didn’t believe in fate, but like all soldiers, she was superstitious. So far that morning, luck had been on her side. Her father would disagree, she knew, and point out her success, or failure, was due to planning or lack of it. That was one of the differences between them. Jenn had planned the bio-attack for years, had sacrificed her personal life to work her way inside the White House, and in the end, she’d fallen victim to someone else’s shoddy performance.

Jane set aside thoughts of Jenn and her father and focused on the terrain below. This was her op, and hers alone. She’d selected a blind 500 yards up the snowy escarpment from the tracks and dug in beneath a rocky overhang where she’d be invisible from the air. A pair of helicopters had flown over forty-five minutes before, the advance security teams checking the train tracks to be sure there was no obstruction. They would’ve been watching the roads for suspicious vehicles parked along the train route or shadowing the train’s progress too, but Hooker should be long gone by now. Her thermal winter BDUs and the small snow cave she’d scooped out beneath the overhang helped conserve her body heat. She wasn’t cold. Her blood raced too hot and fast for her to be cold or nervous.

A distant rumble traveled through the shallow valley and her pulse jumped for an instant before she settled into battle mode. Calm settled over her, her heart rate slowed, her vision cleared, and her mind went crystal sharp. The train was coming. Now timing was everything. Like always, the battle came down to a matter of minutes, minutes in which she would win or fail, live or die. She scanned the length of the track with the long-range binoculars and saw the first glimmer of flashing steel in the gray distance. Judging the intercept, she released the first drone. As it flew, she punched in the number she had programmed into the burn phone.

*

Cam, Evyn Daniels, Tom Turner, and Stark sat opposite the president’s campaign manager, Adam Eisley, and two White House staffers under his direction in the USSS command car. The president had been clear about continuing his campaign trek, but he might be convinced to modify his plan if a viable alternative could be provided.

“Our recommendation,” Cam said, “is to terminate the train excursion at Trinidad. The president can continue with his planned itinerary by motorcade and plane. That way, we can isolate him to a far greater extent than we can here, and decrease the threat level.”

“Absolutely not,” Adam said. “Have you looked at the ratings lately? They’re climbing every hour. We’re getting great press coverage. TV networks are running maps of his route morning and night. All his personal appearances are pulling prime-time coverage. He’s the biggest show in town during a long, cold winter. This has been the shot in the arm he’s needed. Hell no, he’s not getting off this train.”

“You’ve got plenty of time to bolster his ratings,” Cam said, not bothering to point out to someone like Adam, who lived and breathed poll reports, that Andrew Powell’s ratings were the least of her concerns. “His security is far more important than a ten-second TV spot.”

“Twenty second. What you fail to understand,” Adam said dismissively, “is the impact of appearances. If you did, you and the first daughter wouldn’t have started the circus show by getting marr—”

“Be very careful,” Cam said quietly. “You don’t want to bring Blair into this.”

A few uncomfortable coughs and clearing throats followed and the campaign manager shrugged. “What’s done is done. But the president hired me to manage his reelection campaign because I’m the best there is. I know what I’m doing.” He glanced at Tom Turner. “Unless, of course, you feel that your people aren’t adequately prepared to protect the president—”

“Look,” Tom snapped, “this isn’t about who has the most power here. This is about securing—” Tom broke off and jumped up, his hand to the receiver in his ear. “The president just signaled a code red.”

As Cam bolted to her feet, her phone rang, and she grabbed it. “Roberts.”

“Cam,” Lucinda said, her voice vibrating with urgency, “we have a situa—”

An ear-shattering screech filled the car and the train decelerated rapidly, throwing everyone off balance. Cam caught herself on the edge of the table, trying to stay upright. “Where? Lucinda, where?”

“Stand down,” Lucinda ordered. “No one is to approach the private cars. Tell Tom—no one is to try to come forward.”

Cam’s gut clenched. Blair was somewhere forward in the train. She motioned to Tom and switched her phone to speaker. “What is the president’s status?”

“We’re…he’s fine.” Lucinda drew a breath. “But, Cam, we’ve got someone claiming there’s a bomb on the tracks.”

Tom said, “I’ll alert the—”

“No,” Lucinda said, “you can’t. She says anyone trying to clear the tracks will be shot. And Tom—she says there’s another bomb. On the roof of one of our private cars.”

Chapter Twenty-five

Blair managed to avoid the coffee sloshing across the table as the train jerked to a halt. She regained her balance, righted the coffee mug, and pushed to her feet. Across from her, Vivian grabbed onto the chair beside her, her eyes wide. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Viv said, swiping her recorder from the floor. “What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll find out.” Blair hurried toward her father’s cars. When she tried to slide the door open, it wouldn’t budge. An icy chill slid down her spine. The train was no ordinary train, and like all her father’s transportation, it was equipped with multiple layers of enhanced security, including mechanical. Something had probably triggered the lockdown system on his private cars when the train made an unscheduled stop. She’d been through things like this before. She thought about the elevator ride the day before. Probably just another glitch in some electronics somewhere. Just a precaution. She pushed the kernel of panic back down where it belonged. The train was filled with dozens of highly trained Secret Service agents. They were as safe here as they were in the White House. She turned back and met Vivian’s concerned eyes.

“Locked?” Viv asked.

Blair nodded and slipped her phone from her pocket. “It appears so for the moment. Cam will know what’s happening. Just hold on a sec.”

“Of course,” Viv said calmly. She walked to the window and pushed the button to roll up the shades that had come down when the train stopped. Nothing happened.

“Blackout shades,” Blair said flatly. “The power must be off to them too.”

Cam’s phone went straight to voice mail. She tried Lucinda, the same thing happened. “Damn it.”

Now Blair was getting worried. If Cam and Lucinda were both out of reach, something was happening. She spun around at the sound of the rear door sliding open. Her heart leapt when Paula entered, partly from relief at seeing a face she knew, partly with a growing sense of uneasiness. The grim expression on Paula’s usually easygoing face didn’t help. She gripped the back of a chair to have something to divert her attention from the bubble of panic growing in her midsection. “What is it? Why are we stopped?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Stark said. “I’ve been advised that someone has made a credible threat to detonate a bomb if we try to move the train.”

“A bomb? On the train?” Blair said. “How can that be? Where?”

Stark shook her head. “I don’t know. Orders are everyone needs to stay exactly where they are until the location of the ordnance is pinpointed and the threat neutralized.”

“Neutralized,” Viv said. “What does that mean?”

Stark regarded her with a frown. “Who are you?”

“Vivian Elliott, the Washington Gazette.” Viv held out her press pass. “Have you any word on who’s making the threats?”

A muscle in Stark’s jaw throbbed. “No comment. And anything that happens in this room is off the record.”

Vivian straightened. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. I’m in this room, and I don’t require permission to report anything I witness.”

“I wouldn’t want to have to declare you a threat to national security, confiscate your recorder, and impose a gag order on you,” Stark said in an unemotional tone of voice that was all the more unnerving for its quiet certainty.

“I assure you, Agent,” Viv replied just as calmly, “as long as you’re reasonable in your requests for confidentiality, I won’t report anything I see or hear without clearance from you or Ms. Powell.”

“Stark, what about my father?” Blair couldn’t care less about what Vivian might or might not report. Once the crisis passed, the spin doctors would take over.

“He’s in communication with us.”

The icy tendrils reached into her marrow. “What do you mean, he’s in communication? Where’s Cam? Stop being evasive.”

“I wish I didn’t have to be,” Stark said darkly. “I don’t know much more than what I’ve told you. All of us are getting our orders by com link from Tom and Cam in the command car. We’ve been told to restrict our movement and to see that no one leaves their car.”

“I want to talk to Cam.”

“She’s been assured you’re safe.”

“But what about her? Is she?”

“Of course,” Stark said.

Blair knew that game. All the agents played it—danger was normal, so of course everything was fine. She tamped down her temper. “How long do you think they intend to keep us in here in the dark?”

Stark looked as unhappy as Blair felt. “For now, we wait.”

Blair wanted to snarl, but Stark was only doing what she had to do. Just as somewhere, so was Cam.

*

The command car was crowded with Cam, Tom, communication techs, and the K9 and ERT chiefs crowded around a speaker they’d programmed to broadcast incoming calls.

“Cam,” Lucinda said via the speaker, “the first call was routed through the White House switchboard. The caller told the operator she needed to be connected to the president immediately or the train would be attacked. The president was notified, and he took the call. Any further incoming communications will be direct to him, so you and Tom can hear…wait…it’s ringing now.”

“Go,” Cam said. “We’ve got it.”

“This is Andrew Powell,” the president said an instant later. He sounded calm and confident.

“Let me clarify your instructions so we have no misunderstanding that could lead to a tragedy none of us want,” a woman said. Her voice was distant but clear.

Cam leaned closer, fighting to keep her anger from clouding her senses. Blair, Lucinda, the president, a few dozen agents—they were all in the kill zone if what this woman said was true about a bomb on one of the cars, and she could do nothing for them except listen and search for a chink in the UNSUB’s plan. She had to stay clearheaded and think. She took a breath and listened.

“This is simple,” the Jane Doe said. “Have Jennifer Pattee transported to the train station in Washington DC. There she will buy a ticket for a departing train and be allowed to travel freely. She will be provided a phone to call me at the number you’ve traced by now, once she is on the train. When she has left the train and entered a cab, she will call me again. As soon as I have confirmation she is en route to a safe location, I’ll deactivate the drone detonators and the train may continue. You have thirty minutes to transport her to the train station.”

“I’d like to know who I am negotiating with,” Andrew Powell said.