The Project 02 - The Lance

those emails we found on Dysart's computer. What I don't know is how he thinks it should be handled. Find out, Nick."

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

    Nick stood next to the President in the Rose Garden. Rice made the requisite remarks about service and duty and presented him with a boxed medal. The cameras flashed. It was a relief when they went inside to the Oval Office.
    Rice took a seat behind his desk and motioned Nick to a chair. They were alone except for a Secret Service agent standing by one of the curved doors set into the wall.
    "How do you like the limelight, Nick? You don't mind if I call you Nick, do you?"
    "Of course not, sir. I don't like cameras much, to tell the truth. Don't you get tired of it?"
    "It goes with the territory. Don't be surprised if someone wants you to run for Congress. You've got name recognition, now."
    "I'd make a lousy politician, Mr. President."
    He laughed. "Yes, you would. You're too willing to say what's on your mind. Even when you don't, your face gives you away. Don't get into any poker games, Nick."
    Rice turned serious. "I was sorry to hear about Director Harker. How would you feel about taking over for her?"
    It took a moment to absorb that. "Sir, I'm no administrator. And as you pointed out, I wouldn't make a very good politician. A lot of what she does is political. I'd screw it up."
    Rice picked up a letter opener, set it down. "What is your evaluation of Harker's deputy?"
    "She's very competent. She's fully capable of running things and she knows everything that's going on. She and the Director have been an excellent team. We're all comfortable with her in charge."
    "Hmmm. Then for now we'll leave things as they are."
    Nick briefed him on Greenwood. He relayed Steph's question about how to handle the implications of Dysart's emails to the conspirators. He could see Rice thinking about what he was going to say next.
    "This situation will tear the country apart if it becomes public. It was bad enough about Dysart, but the rest of it…" His voice trailed off. His eyes had a glint in them. Nick had seen it before, in the eyes of men getting ready to go into combat, an inward look of calculation, determination and something else.
    "When I think of what this country has given these men," Rice said, "the honor and position—to have them throw it in our faces because of some rabid Nazi philosophy of hatred makes me want to puke. You have to get me proof, Carter. Proof. I can't move against them without it."
    "Yes, sir."
    Rice stood up and Nick rose. The President walked over to the windows and looked out into the Rose Garden. He had his hands clasped behind his back. The knuckles were white and his voice was tight, controlled.
    "I thought I'd have an eight year run here. Time enough to do some good, get the country back on track, wind down the war. If this becomes public, I'm finished. My VP is a Nazi. No one can spin that away."
    Rice was speaking to the window. Nick couldn't see his face.
    As if it were an afterthought, he said, "If General Dysart had been taken alive and tried, it would have been a bad day for our country."
    "Yes, sir, it would have been." The message was clear. The President didn't want these men to come to trial. But he hadn't said the words out loud.
    "Meanwhile, I still don't have what I need to show it wasn't a Jewish group that bombed the Mosque."
    Rice turned back to face him. "I must have something, or I will not be able to stop what is happening over there. It may be too late, anyway, but I've got to try. I've spoken with the Presidents of China and Russia. They're willing to work with me to try and broker a solution, but without a clear trail of evidence showing the Israelis weren't behind it, there's not much any of us can do that will make a difference. This bomb has ignited hatreds that have festered for a thousand years."
    "I understand, sir. I'll do my best."
    Rice reached across the desk and shook his hand. "I know you will. I'm counting on it."

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

    The dreary façade of the Jaffa Road Royal Arms in Tel Aviv would never find its way into the tourist brochures. A large, faded sign in Hebrew and English on the front of the building advertised "Furnished Rooms/Apartments To Let".
    Ari wondered how he'd let himself be persuaded by Nick's phone call to mount this operation. He was beginning to think it was a good thing he had. Earlier his agents had checked out the building. A conversation with the manager and a look at the tenant