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target…
    Or the sniper had him exactly where he wanted him.
    Mike whispered into Ben’s ear. “Do you see that?”
    “What?”
    Mike was staring out the window. “It’s a reflection. On the chrome of that officer’s motorcycle. And it’s…changing.” His eyes widened. “We have to get out of this car.”
    “Are you insane?” President Blake said. “There’s a killer out there! Maybe a whole terrorist cell!”
    “You don’t understand,” Mike said insistently. “There’s a bomb. We have to get out of this car.”
    The president protested, but Mike didn’t wait to hear any more. He lunged forward, grabbing the door handle and flinging it open.
    The Secret Service men outside had their attention trained away from the car on the potential assailants, so they were taken by surprise when the rear door suddenly burst open. Mike grabbed Ben by the coat lapels and tossed him out of the car.
    “What the—”
    Mike didn’t hesitate a second. He hoisted the president up and out. Several agents immediately formed a protective perimeter around him.
    And Gatwick and the rest of the agents had their guns trained on Mike.
    “Stand down! What do you think you’re doing?”
    “There’s a bomb in this car,” Mike answered, not moving. “It could blow any second.”
    Gatwick stared at him. “On Cadillac One?”
    “I tell you, there’s a bomb! I saw the clock. We only have seconds—”
    Agent Colbert, who had done time with a bomb squad unit, ran to the far side of the limo. “My God, he’s right. Get Samson out of here.”
    Two agents grabbed the president and carried him away much as Ben had seen the first lady carried earlier.
    “Go!” Mike shouted as he tried to clamber out of the car. Tidwell had the opposite door open and was making his escape in the other direction.
    Ben suspected there would be no personal escort for him, so he didn’t wait for help. He scrambled to his feet and ran.
    The force of the explosion knocked Ben to the ground, chin first into the pavement. The sonic boom shattered his ears. Car parts flew all around him, like a hideous metallic rainfall.
    Cadillac One had become a fireball.
    In the midst of the thick, billowing smoke, Ben pulled himself to his feet, his face bleeding in a dozen places, his eyes watering from the fumes. He knew he had been shot at least once, maybe more. He wasn’t sure the president had moved far enough quickly enough to be protected from the explosion. But none of that was uppermost in his mind.
    “Mike!” he shouted to no avail, desperately trying to locate his best friend. “Mike? Where are you?”
    Stumbling backward, crying, coughing, lost in the sudden cloud of smoke, he was so confused and distraught he crashed into the EMTs who were moving a female body from the stage to someplace away from the fray.
    They were moving Emily Blake. Not that there was anything they could do for her now.
    The first lady was dead.

3
    U.S. S ENATE , R USSELL B UILDING ,
O FFICE S-212-D
W ASHINGTON , D.C.
    C hristina McCall pulled at her long strawberry blond locks so hard, she feared she might pull them out by the roots. “Where is he?”
    Jones looked at her sympathetically. “Where do you think.” It was a statement, not a question.
    “I’m about to go nuts,
mon ami.
” She was wearing a red body stocking with a fur collar, a short red skirt with a scalloped hem, black and white striped tights, and boots—which for her was a fairly conservative look. Her hair was pulled forward in Bettie Page bangs. “I’ve been dealing with calls from constituents, demands for action, expressions of sympathy, all very difficult and demanding, and all of it directed toward the only surviving senator from the great state of Oklahoma. Except—guess what? I’m not the senator!”
    Jones laid a hand on her shoulder, trying to quiet her. “I’m sure he’ll turn up soon. You know how the Boss gets sometimes.”
    “I certainly do. And
pardonnez-moi,
but that’s no