"Roland, do you concur with this assessment?"

"Mr. President, we really need more to go on, but yes, I do. And Dr. Berkowitz's psychological profiles have been dead-on in the three most recent terrorist-bombing cases the Bureau has solved."

"Any other comments, Doctor?"

"No, Mr. President. Not until we get more communications to evaluate."

"Thank you for your time." A Secret Service agent escorted Berkowitz out the door.

"Alex, you look unconvinced."

"Mr. President, I have great respect for Dr. Berkowitz's judgment. But this case is different. This is not some malcontent computer nerd sending letter-bombs to people he imagines have wronged him or his world. Forget for the moment all the agents who have been killed. Mr. President, a dozen people are gone. Disappeared without a trace. A National Guard helicopter has vanished into thin air, and we don't have a clue as to what happened. Dr. Berkowitz's psychological profile not only fails to explain these things, it doesn't even fit in with them."

"You have an evaluation from a psychiatrist which differs from the one we just heard?" "I'm in the middle of getting one, sir," Neumann explained, stretching the truth. "I've gathered what we have and will be presenting it for evaluation later today."

"Do that. Anything else?"

"Yes, sir. On the helicopter crashes, it was on-board explosions, not gunfire, that brought both aircraft down. Forensics ran some of the material from both crash sites through a mass spectrometer. They found residue of burned thermite particles, and trace evidence of a high-velocity detonating compound used in explosive military ordnance. We now believe there was a bomb on each of the two helicopters, perhaps detonated by a transmitter on the third." Neumann frowned. "Usually in cases involving small bombs, Mr. President, we can tell quite a bit about the precise construction of the bomb by the forensic evidence remaining at the scene.

"In this case, however, we did not know that we were looking for a bomb until the spectrometer results came in, which was last night, so now we'll have to guess as to the type of detonators or the casing used. Other aspects remain puzzling as well. The combination of the two materials is a very odd choice for a homemade explosive. Inconceivable for an amateur and very unlikely even for a person with extensive military experience. Still possible, however. Our best current guess, given that we can't see the wrecks themselves, is that one bomb was placed under the instrument panel of the first helicopter and wired in to the electrical system. The other one was positioned somewhere on the engine of the second aircraft. That turbine wheel came apart like a king-sized hand grenade."

"Why can't you examine the wreckage?" the President demanded. Dwight Greenwell cleared his throat.

"I'll answer that, Mr. President. The FBI's forensic staff informed me that they had all the necessary samples and photos from both wrecks, and the manufacturer of the engines wanted assurance that their product was not at fault. They were concerned, I believe, about their next military contract. I had the engines removed and turned over to the manufacturer. The remainder of the wreckage was disposed of."

"I see," the President said, his eyes narrowing as he opened his mouth to say more. Now he's going to nail him Alex Neumann thought, but instead the Chief Executive just nodded.

"Keep your men working on it, Alex," he instructed. "George?" the President said, turning to George Cowan. The Director of the CIA straightened slightly before speaking.

"Mr. President, members of the Task Force, I've asked Hap Edwards to brief the group today." Cowan opened the door and in walked a lean, dark-haired man in his fifties. He wore a navy blue suit, and his face was all but devoid of expression. Following him into the room was a much larger man some ten years younger, tall and muscular with sandy-blond hair and a look of mild amusement on his weathered face.

"I think most of you know him already, and for any of you who don't, Hap is the retired director of the CIA's Center for Counter-Terrorism." The 'Hit Squad' Neumann thought. Wonder how many people this guy's killed.

"Mr. President," Edwards began, "I realize that I am here solely in an advisory capacity, and in addition to that I am retired from all duties at the CIA. Despite those facts, I would like to state at the outset that as the CIA is prohibited from engaging in domestic operations, I feel that my presence here, along with the presence of any other current or past employees of the Agency, is inappropriate and uncalled for. Domestic crimes are the province of the FBI, and I see that you have the Bureau's top man here already. In light of those facts, Mr. President, I request that I be dismissed from this forum."

"Relax, Mr. Edwards," the President said with a smile. "I'm not going to violate the CIA's charter or ask you to compromise national security." The smile vanished and he became utterly serious. "This administration is a little different from the one you remember." Edwards gave a quick look that took in the four Congressmen and the ATF Director. The President saw it, as he was intended to.

"None of these people are going to talk to the press about what you say in here, Hap. And if they did, what of it? Do you really think it would make things worse?" the President asked with arched eyebrows.

"I would still like to reiterate my position that my presence here is inappropriate. Certain elected officials have in the past soundly criticized the CIA for becoming involved in events of this type. And some of those criticisms have cost CIA agents their lives and careers." Might you be referring to the Church Commission, Mr. Edwards? Neumann thought as Edwards' eyes bored in to each of the four Congressmen and Dwight Greenwell in turn.

"But you want to know what I think," Edwards continued, nodding as if to himself. "And you want advice on what to do. With me today is Major Nigel Hume-Douglas," he said, indicating the tall, muscular man to his right. At this, the second man smiled at the rest of the group. "Major Hume-Douglas is with Britain's Special Air Service. He has been on active duty in Northern Ireland for the past nine years. His experience at corn-batting domestic terrorism exceeds that of any man I know or know of. We have discussed the current situation at length, and I agree completely with the Major's assessment of where we stand and what we will be able to do about it. Nigel, tell these people about the IRA in Northern Ireland."

"Not much to tell, I shouldn't imagine, that these folks don't already know." He looked at the President. "The IRA gets much of its funding from citizens of this country. Your predecessor, sir, invited Gerry Adams to come here and be his guest. In March of 1995,1 believe it was. For St. Patrick's Day."

"Tell them about the way the IRA operates, Nigel," Edwards prompted.

"Quite a bit like these chaps you're now facing," the SAS man said. "Those in active service kill British soldiers at every possible opportunity. As, of course, we do them," he added with a tight smile. "Excuse me?" Helen Schule said.

"Not much secret about it," Hume-Douglas said to the Vermont Congresswoman. "Different rules of engagement for us than you folks have over here in the States."

"The SAS has none of our restrictions on wiretapping, opening mail, and other forms of surveillance, Congresswoman Schule," Hap Edwards explained.

"Normal procedure for us is to identify an active IRA member through those methods, or a word from an informant. Then we follow him, if possible, to see who he'll be chatting up. Get more of them identified, you see. Then we snatch him. For interrogation, of course," Nigel Hume-Douglas explained. "We try to get as much as possible out of the fellow before he dies." Several of the task force members appeared visibly disturbed by this revelation. He got their attention there Neumann thought.

"British Army officers identify and murder IRA members?" Jon Bane of Ohio asked. "Is that what you are telling us?"

"Just so."

"Are you saying you believe we should adopt those tactics in this country?"

"Mr. Edwards and I were having just such a discussion last night," the SAS officer said easily. He glanced at the President, then continued. "There are several bits about the IRA you must remember before you start thinking of these American chaps in the same way." He looked around at his audience. Many were scowling. The President's face was blank. The white-haired man in the Savile Row suit showed a glimmer of a smile.

"Right, then. The IRA are Marxists," Hume-Douglas said in a strong baritone. "They want Ireland to be ruled by their own Socialist government at a time when Socialist governments are collapsing of their own weight all around the world.

"Next up, the IRA are operating on a small island, where our people control all normal means of exit and entrance. A small island about the size of your Arkansas," he added helpfully, using the example Hap Edwards had suggested earlier in private. "You can see how that makes things a bit easier on us." Harrison Potter was smiling openly now, a lopsided grin that was full of delight.

"The IRA also has to go elsewhere to do most of its training. Shooting practice, to you folks," he added. "They go to Libya for that, which must be a bit of a nuisance, come to it."

"Why is that necessary?" the President asked.

"Guns must be kept at shooting clubs," the Major explained with a trace of surprise. "Almost no one may have them at home. Anyone we suspect might have any connection at all to the IRA is prohibited from belonging to such a club, so practicing is a bit dicey. Ammunition's forbidden as well, so it's a bit scarcer now and not to be wasted except on important things like assassinations. Most of the kneecappings we've seen in the last few years have been done with those cordless power drills you Yanks are so keen on. Come to it, the Black and Decker seems to be more of a deterrent on informants than the Walther. We've had the Devil's own time recruiting squealers since the drills got popular." Alex Neumann noticed that Dick Gaines looked like he was going to be sick.

"Tell them how many active IRA members there are, Nigel," Hap Edwards prompted.

"Most recent estimates put the number at a bit under two hundred."

"Thousand?" Dick Gaines broke in.

"Two hundred," Hume-Douglas repeated. "Not two thousand," he added, not realizing what the Congressman had been asking. "And those two hundred Marxists on that little Arkansas-sized island have held the British milit'ry at bay for close on to a century, now. I expect when I go to my grave I'll still be fighting the buggers. Begging your pardon, ma'am," he said to Helen Schule.

"Are you saying we have the beginnings of our own IRA-type terrorist organization forming here in the United States?" Congressman Bane asked.

"Not in the slightest. The IRA are Marxists," he repeated, stressing the word. "Not much enthusiasm for unilateral government control over here, now is there?" he said with a chuckle. "Look what happened to that last fellow." The SAS Major turned to the President.

"Do I have it right-these chaps who've been such a nuisance here have made no demands? Mr. Edwards tells me that the only thing they seem to want is for your gun police to leave them alone." "We've had no direct communication with them, as yet," the President said slowly. Nice answer Neumann thought. And I see old Dwight Greenwell doesn't much care for the Brit's characterization of ATE "Because if all these chaps want is to be left alone in a free market," the Englishman went on, "I should think they'd get quite a bit more public support in this country than our band of Marxist socialists do at home. Gun clubs for folks who like to shoot rifles and pistols-you have them everywhere over here. Just one of them might easily muster more men than the entire Irish Republican Army."

"Last rifle and pistol club I belonged to had a membership of twelve hundred," Hap Edwards agreed. "Many others are bigger."

"Right, then. And come to the skill level, I should expect the clumsiest of the entire lot to stand head and shoulders above what we face in Ireland. Saw your Mr. Richards in the other room, chap who puts on that New Lease Body Armor bowling pin shoot each summer in Michigan. Went there m'self in '93, had my eyes opened a bit, I did. You Yanks know how to shoot, I'll say that straight out. Saw many a man I'd trust in the killing house with the PM. Women, too," he amended. "And not a copper or milit'ry man in the bunch, to my eye."

The 'killing house' to which Hume-Douglas was referring was the building where SAS men ran hostagerescue drills. The drills were very realistic, with live ammunition in the soldiers' submachine guns and live humans for the hostages. During at least one drill a year, the 'don't-shoot' targets were the actual Prime Minister and members of the Royal Family.

"Mr. Richards...?" the President asked, cocking his head slightly. He did not know any such man.

"David Richards is here at my request, Mr. President," Dwight Greenwell said. "He's the owner of New Lease Body Armor, and he has a lot of contacts in the gun culture. He's in the other room, in case we need him."

"I see." The President turned back to Major Hume-Douglas. "Let me summarize: Ireland is an island two percent of the size of the United States. Residents there have to store their weapons at governmentsanctioned gun clubs. Anyone with a relative even suspected of belonging to the IRA cannot own a gun, cannot belong to such a club, and must go outside the country if he wants to shoot at paper targets. The Special Air Service has quite a bit more...latitude in dealing with terrorists than we have here, and the SAS is one of the finest fighting units in the world. It is fully the equal of our own Special Forces. And for decades, the SAS has been held at bay by a group of Marxist-Socialists similar in number to the spectators at an average American Little League baseball game. Is that about right?"

"Spot on," the SAS Major said without a trace of embarrassment.

"So you have no advice on how we should deal with this...situation."

"None at all, sir."

"Mr. Edwards, have you anything to add to what the Major has said?"

"No, sir. I completely concur with his evaluation." Jesus, he's grinning! Alex Neumann thought as Nigel Hume-Douglas began to smile.

"Something to add, Major?" the President asked.

"Just thinking what you people must be wishing. That our chaps hadn't made such a hash of it at Concord Green, don't you know."

"You might want to keep that thought to yourself," the President said drily. "Although I suspect Congressman Schaumberg might agree wi th you." He took a deep breath. "Major Hume-Douglas, thank you for your time," the President said in dismissal. "Mr. Edwards, I'd like you to stay for the rest of the meeting." He gave a nod to the Secret Service agent stationed by the door, who quickly ushered the SAS man out of the room. Now what? Alex Neumann wondered just as the President's gaze fell on him full force.

"Alex, has there been evidence of coordination or cross-linkage with the killings we've seen here? Not the ones done by the core group, but the others?"

"No, Mr. President. None that we have been able to detect. They've all been individual acts, prompted, we believe, by the messages from the man claiming to be Blair."

"So if we can find the man sending these messages, and the people in his group, we should be able to stop all of the killings?" How to answer that one? Alex wondered.

"Ah, that is possible, Mr. President. But I would say that our window of opportunity will not remain open indefinitely. The longer any subversive movement progresses, the less important its originator becomes to the survival of the movement as a whole." The President nodded.

"Have you a plan for narrowing the list of suspects from the entire U.S. Census to a more manageable group?"

"We have, sir, and we have begun to implement it."

"Tell the task force about this plan, please."

"Mr. President, do you want the entire methodology, or just the final number on the list?"