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As Clark broke through the emergency fire door, Sam directed them to the police cruiser parked at the rear of the car park, somewhat out of place with its light blue coloring and Maine State Police decals.

“Long story,” he said as he fumbled awkwardly to remove the keys from his pocket.

Clark saw her opportunity. Sam had his shotgun leveled at the emergency door they had just exited. As he fumbled hopelessly for the car keys, she stepped forward, grabbed his injured arm, pulled it up and out of its socket in one swift movement. For good measure, she then wrenched it sideways and up in one sharp movement. Sam screamed as he tried desperately to bring the shotgun to bear but Clark had him. There was no way to get to her. He could feel her breath on his neck as she twisted his useless arm and was now holding it tight against his back in a classic police arm lock. As the pain intensified, Sam’s knees buckled.

The Senator looked on in horror as he watched Clark attack his brother. He had walked to the passenger door of the car and had the car between himself, Clark and Sam. As the realization that Clark had set them up hit home, he rushed towards them.

“You bitch!” he screamed, diving at Clark.

Clark released Sam as his brother dived towards her. Strengthened by the pain relief, Sam spun round and leveled his shotgun at Clark who immediately raised her arms in surrender, her pistol dropping to the floor. As both had moved away from the high flying Senator, he was left to pick himself up from the ground and, brushing himself off, he surveyed the scene. His brother still had a shotgun leveled at Clark.

“Wait a minute,” he said, looking at his brother Sam. “How come you can do that?”

Sam did not take his eyes off of Clark who began to smile back at him.

“Do what?”

“You’re using both hands!”

Sam looked down. His right hand held the pistol grip while his left cradled the stock, something he had been unable to do since the crash. The pain, although still present, was significantly less than it had been. He lowered the barrel and moved his left shoulder around. Although weak and painful, his arm was now usable.

“Don’t mention it,” said Clark as she lowered her arms and stepped towards the Senator. As she got closer to him, she raised her hand and slapped him gently across the face. “Bitch?!” she exclaimed with a smile.

“Sorry,” he offered lamely in response.

Sam mouthed a ‘thank-you’ to Clark before telling them to get into the car and with the police lights and siren on, they pulled out of the car park.

“Can we switch the siren off now?” pleaded the Senator. The noise was deafening.

Sam checked the rear-view mirror. They had been travelling at over 80 mph for over five minutes and were well away from the Howard Johnson. He flicked the switches off.

“Thank God! Now we can talk,” said Senator Baker.

Sam took another long look in the mirror and nodded.

“So what in the hell is going on?” blurted the Senator. The adrenaline rush that had kept him going for the previous few hours was wearing off.

Sam composed himself. It was the first moment of relative calm for a number of hours.

“Well?” insisted Agent Clark from the passenger seat, certain that whatever the hell was going on had something to do with the Senator’s gun toting killer brother.

Sam turned to her. The tears in his eyes surprised her and killed her anger instantly. Whatever she and the Senator had been through clearly paled in comparison to what Sam had endured.

Sam turned and faced the road as he spoke.

“It started this morning. I spotted what looked like an agency car come off the ferry. Something inside me knew it was about me. I raced home but was too late. By the time I got there, they were dead. All dead.”

Saying it out loud made it all the more real. It had really happened. The tears rolled down his face.

As Sam stared silently ahead, Agent Clark looked at the Senator.

“Who’s dead?” asked the Senator in barely a whisper. He knew Sam had built a new life. He knew about Sam’s son, Sam Junior, his only nephew. The realization that something he had done could have endangered Sam was one thing but his family had not even entered his mind.

“Sam, Julie and Goldie!” he replied coldly as the tears cascaded down his face.

“Jesus Christ!” exclaimed the Senator, falling back into his seat.

Agent Clark placed her hand on Sam’s upper arm and squeezed lightly.

After a few seconds, Sam brushed his arm across his face, wiping the tears and continued.

“I killed the men, then tried to contact you but couldn’t. So I called in the threat to the Secret Service and hightailed it here. On the way, I had a bit of a disagreement with a missile but managed to get through that.”

“Sorry? A missile?” asked Clark.

“I assume so. I must have been doing 140 and had to swerve violently to avoid some old timer in a pick-up. As I swerved, a flash of light took out the pick-up. Had I not swerved, it would have hit me. The explosion blew my car onto its side. Then a fuel tanker exploded and the underside of my car took the full brunt of that. Had I not been in an armored agency car, I’d have been vaporized but instead, it blasted the car like a catapult about 100 yards into the woods. I must have been knocked out. The first thing I was aware of was that my left arm was messed up…”

“Your shoulder was dislocated, just very slightly. I don’t think enough to cause any real damage. I’m sure it’s just bruised,” interrupted Clark.

“Thanks for your help, by the way, I tried to pop it in myself but it wasn’t for moving. I thought I had broken something.”

Sam had had his fair share of medical training, particularly as a pararescueman.

“Two years pre med!” offered Clark which elicited a rather surprised look from the Senator.

“I thought you always wanted to be in the Service?”

“You have to have a fall back,” replied Clark, shrugging her shoulders.

“…Anyway…,” Sam interrupted the interruption. “…I had half of Maine’s emergency services at the scene of the explosion. But nobody spotted my car, so I sneaked out, grabbed what I could, borrowed this car and got to the hotel. When I got there, I spotted the team outside and with no time to get you out, I booked the room next to yours and took them by surprise. I couldn’t alert you in case they were monitoring your room. So here we are.”

“I am so sorry, Sam.”

“It’s not your fault Charlie. It’s whoever wants you dead that will be sorry,” promised Sam.

“I’m afraid, I have no idea who that is,” replied a very troubled Senator.

“We’ll find them, I can assure you.”

“Oh my God, what about Beth?” panicked the Senator, realizing that if Sam’s family were targeted, so might his wife.

“She’s fine, I called her. She’s gone to a friend’s. I gave her instructions to ditch her cell phone and stay out of sight. She’s safe.”

“Thank God!” As soon as the Senator said it, he regretted the selfishness of it. “Sorry,” he added again, although the uselessness of the word just made it sound even worse.

Sam sensed the awkwardness and turned to Clark.

“So what happened to you guys?”

Clark looked at the Senator but realized he was not in a state to talk.

“Well, I was with my partner Agent Travis when we received the call. We were stuck in traffic and gave an ETA of around ten minutes but managed to get there in five.”

Senator Baker was hearing this piece of information for the first time.

“What do you mean you were in traffic?”

“What do
you
mean?” she asked, confused. “We were in our car and we were stuck in traffic, what’s that got to do with anything?”

“I mean,” said the Senator who had found his voice and was taking charge. “I was in the Capitol building when the threat came through. There were probably hundreds of federal agents in that building and scores of Secret Service agents.” He paused to let the information sink in.

“Oh my God.” The penny dropped. “They picked us because we were ten minutes away. That would give them time to deal with you. But we arrived early and if we had been even ten seconds later, those two guys posing as Capitol Police would have got to you first!”

“Yep, whoever sent you there had time to kill me and they could still say they had responded to the threat.”

“But that means we’re talking about people with influence at the very top of government.”

“Exactly,” emphasized Sam.

“Holy shit, we’re screwed.” Clark hit the nail on the head as each of them digested just what they were up against.

Rebecca Cohen stepped off the British Airways flight 115 from London with a new identity, Marie-Hélène Abouaf, a French citizen of Tunisian descent. Mossad had some of the best forgers in the world and creating passports at short notice for its agents had never been an issue. At least not until the debacle in Dubai where twenty six Mossad agents had been linked to the assassination of Mahmoud al-Mabhouh, all holding fake or fraudulently obtained passports. Passport officers the world over were just a little more vigilant following the incident.

It was with this in mind that Rebecca approached the immigration officer at JFK and placed her most entrancing smile upon him. As Rebecca herself would say, the male really was the weaker of the sexes. Put a beautiful woman in front of a man and he became a blubbering wreck. Pathetic. She passed through without incident and hailed a cab as she exited the terminal building into a blustery September evening. Her mission was simple. Ben had been very succinct. Find the bomb before it goes off!

As soon as she was clear of the terminal and comfortable she had not picked up a tail, she called Ben.

“I’ve landed.”

“About time! All hell has broken loose at a hotel in Newark.”

“The terrorists?”

“Not sure, multiple shootings but almost as soon as it happened, the press went quiet and intelligence agencies went ballistic.”

“Our contacts?”

“Can’t get in, whoever is controlling it is at a very senior level.”

“Any assets I can use?”

“No, you are, as our American friends would say, off the grid. Nobody knows you are there. You have a free hand.”

“Good, what’s the hotel’s address?”

Rebecca passed the Howard Johnson address to the cabbie and hung up on Ben. She opened her make-up bag and with a particular twist removed the bottom of the bag to reveal a lead lined bottom. Not large enough to be noticed during the scans but large enough for a few IDs and a few badges that she always found came in useful. Particularly when she needed information.

As the cab drew near the hotel, Rebecca would not have imagined a multiple shooting had taken place there within the last hour. In America, even a simple shooting would elicit a significant response, crime scene tape, strobing emergency lights, scores of law enforcement officers and numerous vans. The Howard Johnson at Newark, scene of a multiple shooting, failed to have even one police car in attendance.

Rebecca exited the cab and made directly for the entrance lobby. For all the lack of activity outside, the lobby made up for it. Grey suits were everywhere. Obviously, whatever happened here was way beyond uniform policing.

“Excuse me, Miss?” A man approached Rebecca. His jacket was open and his holstered pistol could easily be seen as he moved towards her. “I’m sorry but the hotel is full.” He moved to take her arm and divert her back the way she came.

Rebecca very subtly side-stepped his hand and removed the badge she had taken from her make-up bag in the cab and showed it to the man.

“Special Agent Todd, NCT,” informed Rebecca forcefully.

The man stopped and looked at the badge quizzically. “Sorry, NCT?”

“Nuclear Counter Terrorism, part of the NNSA!”

“Sorry, NNSA?”

“National Nuclear Security Administration, part of DoE.”

“DOD?”

“Delta Oscar Echo, Department of Energy and you?”

“Homeland Security,” he paused. Rebecca was playing him perfectly. Act confidently like you have every reason to be there and 99 times out of 100, no one will second guess you. “How exactly can I help you?” he asked.

“Just show me everything you’ve got and that will be fine,” replied Rebecca, looking around the room for whoever was in charge.

“Just wait here,” he said, waving for her to remain where she was as he walked across to the main desk and whispered in another grey suit’s ear, a far older and obviously more senior agent.

Rebecca had no intention of waiting and as the two men turned from their whispering, Rebecca was at their shoulders.

“Rebecca Todd,” she offered her hand to the senior agent. Confidence exuding from every pore of her body.

“Director Mark Carter,” he offered automatically, shaking Rebecca’s hand. “I’m sorry, I believe you’re with, is it DoE?” he looked at his colleague for confirmation and received a nod.