thought.”
“The bank manager?” said Reuben and Alex nodded. “Who was he?”
“Bashir Tufail. Pakistani. Came over here eight years ago. No criminal record. Honest, law-abiding citizen. At least as far as we can tell. I’ve heard some grumblings that our ‘friends’ at the CIA might know a lot more about him than we do, but they’re not sharing.”
“A cell? Planted here until he was activated?” said Harry. “To kill the VP?”
“We think so now. He’d been working at the bank for four years but at another location. He’s been volunteering to work Saturdays at that branch.”
“Because they knew the VP was going to that fund-raiser,” said Annabelle. “He was prepping for that.”
“That’s right.”
“And the CIA may know he was not so law-abiding,” mused Stone. “That’s interesting.”
Reuben eyed him keenly. “I recognize that look. What’s gotten in your bonnet?”
“Nothing,” said Stone. “I’m just relieved we all got out of there alive.”
“And a terrorist is no more,” said Caleb.
“No more,” repeated Stone.
* * *
After they all left, Stone was seated at his desk reading when he heard something at his door. He inserted his hand inside a secret crevice in his kneehole and pulled out his pistol. He crouched down, waiting.
And he could wait with the best of them. However, after thirty minutes passed and he heard nothing more he moved to the window and peered out. There was no one on his porch. But he did see a piece of paper tacked to the door.
He opened the door and ripped off the paper and unfolded it.
The message was terse and to the point. He would have expected nothing less.
You were not the target. Tufail was. Didn’t know what their plan was. Got lucky it happened while we were both there. You certainly lived up to your rep. And, by the way, I told Shane you said hello. He told me he’d like to see you and talk about old times. You up for it?
Stone looked up and gazed around the cemetery. Without seeing anything to tell him so, he instinctively knew he was being watched.
He slowly held up his thumb and mouthed the words, “I’m game.”
* * *
From a thousand yards away, Will Robie, himself a very patient man, lowered his long-range optics. He smiled and set off to deliver the message.
Will Robie and Jessica Reel have been assigned to work together on a new mission—one that may be more dangerous than anything they’ve ever faced before…
A preview of David Baldacci’s explosive new thriller, The Target , follows.
The men could not have looked more tense. It was as though the weight of the world rested on their shoulders.
Actually, it did.
The president of the United States sat at the end of the small table. They were in the White House Situation Room complex in the basement of the West Wing. Sometimes referred to as the “Woodshed,” the complex had been originated under President Kennedy after the Bay of Pigs fiasco. Kennedy no longer thought he could trust the military and wanted his own intelligence overseers who would parse the reports coming in from the Pentagon. The Truman bowling alley had been sacrificed to build the complex, which had then undergone a major renovation in 2006.
During Kennedy’s era a single analyst from the CIA would man the Situation Room in an unbroken twenty-hour shift, sleeping there as well. Later, the place had been expanded to include the Department of Homeland Security and the White House chief of staff’s office. However, the National Security Council staff ran the complex. Five “Watch Teams” comprised of thirty or so carefully vetted personnel operated the Situation Room on a 24/7 basis. Its primary goal was to keep the president and his senior staff briefed each day on important issues and to allow for instant and secure communications anywhere in the world. It even had a secure link to Air Force One in the event the president was traveling.
The Situation Room itself was large, with space for
“The bank manager?” said Reuben and Alex nodded. “Who was he?”
“Bashir Tufail. Pakistani. Came over here eight years ago. No criminal record. Honest, law-abiding citizen. At least as far as we can tell. I’ve heard some grumblings that our ‘friends’ at the CIA might know a lot more about him than we do, but they’re not sharing.”
“A cell? Planted here until he was activated?” said Harry. “To kill the VP?”
“We think so now. He’d been working at the bank for four years but at another location. He’s been volunteering to work Saturdays at that branch.”
“Because they knew the VP was going to that fund-raiser,” said Annabelle. “He was prepping for that.”
“That’s right.”
“And the CIA may know he was not so law-abiding,” mused Stone. “That’s interesting.”
Reuben eyed him keenly. “I recognize that look. What’s gotten in your bonnet?”
“Nothing,” said Stone. “I’m just relieved we all got out of there alive.”
“And a terrorist is no more,” said Caleb.
“No more,” repeated Stone.
* * *
After they all left, Stone was seated at his desk reading when he heard something at his door. He inserted his hand inside a secret crevice in his kneehole and pulled out his pistol. He crouched down, waiting.
And he could wait with the best of them. However, after thirty minutes passed and he heard nothing more he moved to the window and peered out. There was no one on his porch. But he did see a piece of paper tacked to the door.
He opened the door and ripped off the paper and unfolded it.
The message was terse and to the point. He would have expected nothing less.
You were not the target. Tufail was. Didn’t know what their plan was. Got lucky it happened while we were both there. You certainly lived up to your rep. And, by the way, I told Shane you said hello. He told me he’d like to see you and talk about old times. You up for it?
Stone looked up and gazed around the cemetery. Without seeing anything to tell him so, he instinctively knew he was being watched.
He slowly held up his thumb and mouthed the words, “I’m game.”
* * *
From a thousand yards away, Will Robie, himself a very patient man, lowered his long-range optics. He smiled and set off to deliver the message.
Will Robie and Jessica Reel have been assigned to work together on a new mission—one that may be more dangerous than anything they’ve ever faced before…
A preview of David Baldacci’s explosive new thriller, The Target , follows.
The men could not have looked more tense. It was as though the weight of the world rested on their shoulders.
Actually, it did.
The president of the United States sat at the end of the small table. They were in the White House Situation Room complex in the basement of the West Wing. Sometimes referred to as the “Woodshed,” the complex had been originated under President Kennedy after the Bay of Pigs fiasco. Kennedy no longer thought he could trust the military and wanted his own intelligence overseers who would parse the reports coming in from the Pentagon. The Truman bowling alley had been sacrificed to build the complex, which had then undergone a major renovation in 2006.
During Kennedy’s era a single analyst from the CIA would man the Situation Room in an unbroken twenty-hour shift, sleeping there as well. Later, the place had been expanded to include the Department of Homeland Security and the White House chief of staff’s office. However, the National Security Council staff ran the complex. Five “Watch Teams” comprised of thirty or so carefully vetted personnel operated the Situation Room on a 24/7 basis. Its primary goal was to keep the president and his senior staff briefed each day on important issues and to allow for instant and secure communications anywhere in the world. It even had a secure link to Air Force One in the event the president was traveling.
The Situation Room itself was large, with space for
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