Damoclesâ sword of nuclear holocaust.
âBin Khoury hasnât backed out of the agreement, has he?â Garrett asked without preliminaries. He had high hopes that this weekâs historic visit to Jerusalem for the signing of an accord between Hamas leaders and Israel would be the first legacy of many in his presidency.
But nothing of value came easy. Not only were Arab factions across the Islamic world staging violent protests, but the small Israeli right-wing extremist group, Shomrei Kotelâfixated on erecting the Third Templeâhad now threatened to blow up the Dome of the Rock and clear the site for rebuilding.
âActually, weâve got another situation, sir.â Wrightâs mouthtwisted in the unconscious grimace that had been mercilessly caricatured by comic impressionists on
Saturday Night Live.
âWarrick called in just before boarding his flight from Baghdad.â The Presidentâs former law professor paused for a moment, knowing the impact his next words would have. âHe has a bead on the whereabouts of Firefly.â
Silence hung in the historic room. Even President Washington, gazing down from his portrait over the mantel, seemed to be holding his breath.
Garrett slowly steepled his hands before him on the desk.
Firefly.
He hadnât been briefed on Firefly until his second week in office, and the news of its existence had raised the hairs along his spine more than any other piece of classified data heâd been privy to since taking the oath.
âWhat sort of a bead?â
Without being asked, the Secretary of Defense drew up a chair and folded his bulky six-foot frame into it.
âOne credible enough that Iâve activated the means to retrieve it.â
The NSU,
Garrett thought. Only a handful of people in the government knew about the top-secret unit, which had been created by his predecessor. The stealth unit, independent of the CIA was charged with ensuring the security of the United Statesâat any cost.
âFirefly is still in Iraq?â he asked. âItâs been there all along?â
Wright nodded grimly. He could see the Presidentâs agile mind racing. Not much showed in Owen Garrettâs controlled, intelligent face, but as one of his oldest friends and supporters, Wright recognized the subtle tightening of his broad knuckles and knew that the leader of the free world was experiencing the same surge of hope, fear, and trepidation as he.
âWhat are they doing to get possession of it?â Garrett demanded, his prominent slate-blue eyes scouring Wrightâs face. âBecause you know damn well the Mossad is doing the same or better.â He slammed his fist on the papers piled in front of him. âWe thought we had a lock on it at the damned museum five years ago, before it managed to slip through our fingers. That cannot happen again.â
âIt wonât, Mr. President. This time weâre doing everything necessary.â
Garrett leaned forward, a muscle twitching in his neck. âLike what?â
Wright winced, then pushed himself to his feet and met the chief executiveâs eyes.
âI hope youâll excuse me from answering that question, sir. It might be better if you donât know the details.â
7
The Radiant Light of Heaven Church
Pensacola, Florida
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On a normal Sunday morning, the Radiant Light of Heaven sanctuary vibrated with the energy of a thousand voices raised in praise. The Reverend Ken Mundy knew how to bring his flock surging to their feet. All eyes were fastened on his homely, heavily jowled face, supersized on the screen suspended from the vaulted ceiling. It was a face of sincerity, a face of passion, a face flush with the conviction that the End of Days was near.
It was the same face, the same message, seen on videos every Sunday in the five Radiant Light of Heaven churches scattered throughout Florida, Georgia, Texas, and Michigan. Heâd managed to