Davy shook his head.

"No, they'll close off Perm Ave soon." He pointed to our side of the executive mansion.

"This here is the west wing, used mainly for administration and press briefings, as you can see." He nodded over to the TV crews behind us.

We turned, and it gave both of us an opportunity to have a good look at the personnel. I couldn't see anyone who looked remotely like our targets.

In any case, these guys were technicians sorting out camera gear, not reporters.

We just had to get back to playing the tourist.

"The Oval Office is in the west wing and not in the executive mansion," Davy went on.

"That's why these guys"--he pointed at the crowd by the fence--"never get to see him. They're always looking at the wrong place and from the wrong side. The Oval Office overlooks where all the kids are at the moment."

Still we waited, shuffling forward toward the security. Now and again Josh and Davy waved at somebody they recognized. We moved out of the way so that a group of sharply dressed men and women could come through the gate onto the road. One of the women recognized Josh.

"Well, Mr. D'Souza! What brings you to town?"

Josh stepped to one side with a larger than normal smile on his face.

"I.

thought I'd just drop in and say heyyy." We stood and waited for a few seconds so that he could finish his conversation. I could hear him talking about his kids being part of the ceremony. Sarah suddenly remembered something.

"Oh, no, the camera. I've left it in the car."

Josh heard and turned his head.

"Hey, no problem, I'll open the truck."

Sarah didn't want to mess up the conversation.

"That's OK, I'll do it."

She held out her hand for the keys and Josh presented them.

I'd forgotten it, too. We were going to need it, as we were tourists on a once-in-a-lifetime trip. Josh looked at me as if I was a mop head "We now know who's the one with the smarts!" Then he turned back to his conversation.

We waited until Sarah ran back to us with the camera in her hand, and Davy continued the tour.

"Come on, I'll show you something that you see on the news every day." Following yet more power cables, we were walking along the pathway that led from the gate to the front of the east wing. We went down a few steps and past a door with a small white semicircular canopy over it. More power cables spewed over the ground and a portable generator was chugging away to my left. Every time we pa.s.sed groups of people, I watched Sarah for a reaction. She was the only one who could give a positive ID on these people. I could make only possibles.

"Here we are." We'd arrived at a large gla.s.s-paneled door. I looked to the left and saw a satellite truck backed up against the side of the main stone staircase, which was the North Portico of the executive mansion. Under the staircase were open doors leading into the ground floor. A flight above it led to the first floor and the main entrance. Davy ushered us through and we were immediately confronted by a very familiar sight, the lectern with the presidential seal from which I'd seen so many White House statements delivered. The room looked very purposeful and businesslike, but was much smaller than I'd imagined. Facing the lectern were plastic chairs, arranged in rows with a center aisle. It looked more like the setup for a community meeting in the local village hall, except that there were wires everywhere on the floor, with camera crews sorting out TV equipment and mikes. I was busily scanning the room, looking at the dozen or so people who were in a frenzy preparing for the afternoon's events.

Josh looked at us both.

"You got your camera?"

I played dumb.

"What?"

"Your camera?"

There was a big laugh. He said, "Go on, get up there!"

Sarah and I looked at each other and I thought, f.u.c.k it, we've got to do it, it would be unusual not to. Josh took pictures of each of us at the lectern, and one of us together; we put our arms around each other for it and smiled. He threw the camera at me as we walked toward him.

"Something to show your grandchildren!" On cue, Sarah and I exchanged the expected coy smile.

We came out of the press conference area and back onto the pathway.

Davy was looking at the satellite truck. Josh was still saying h.e.l.lo to everyone he knew and explaining to them why he was here. Davy had made up his mind.

"Hey, you know what? I think we will go around the other side. It's kinda busy in there." Shading our eyes from a sudden burst of brilliant sunshine, we started to walk up the small flight of stairs that would take us to the same level as the main entrance staircase.

Still no Al or Bill, but we were a bit early. What we were going to do when we pinged them, I hadn't actually worked out yet. It all depended on the situation. I hoped we could get Josh to take action, alert him that something was wrong, or maybe I'd say that I'd seen people I could positively ID as terrorists. Whatever, it didn't matter, as long as these people stopped them. All we had to do was find them first.

I asked, "Davy, when do the rest of the media arrive, mate? Do they go anywhere to get instructions and stuff like that?"

He pointed back to the press room.

"The media get a briefing in there at noon. The TV presentation guys won't pitch up until then. They just have their sound and lighting people rig up first."

I looked excited.

"Would it be possible to see the briefing? I'm a bit of a media junkie, I really like that sort of thing."

Davy looked at me as if I was mad. How could something like that be interesting?

"Sure, no problem."

I looked over at Sarah as we walked. She knew what I was doing. All we had to do was keep this up until midday. If the players were going to show, they'd be at the media brief.

We'd reached the bottom of the stairs of the North Portico leading into the mansion. Davy pointed to the stage on the gra.s.s opposite, still receiving its finishing touches. He nodded toward Pennsylvania Avenue.

"The cameras will be on that side of the stage, with the TV reports made from the media area we pa.s.sed earlier." We both nodded and looked extremely interested, which wasn't difficult. Josh wasn't so enthralled. He asked Davy, "Where to now?"

"You wanna see the alley?"

We continued to walk past the executive mansion toward the east wing.

The drive we were walking on went from the white gatehouse the press used and swept in a semicircle to the far right of the lawn, where there was a similar security post. An ERT guy was walking toward it from a line of black Chevy pickups parked in line on the driveway. Their red and blue light racks, darkened windows and antennae made me remember that there were probably more guns within a 200-meter radius of where we were standing than Jim's had sold in its lifetime. We would have to be careful not to get zapped ourselves when they took on the players.

We now had an uninterrupted view down into the lower area on the other side of the staircase. I couldn't help noticing the paint. It was more cream than white, and it was peeling. We moved a bit farther along and went down some steps that took us below the level of the gra.s.s. At the bottom, Davy turned and walked backward so he could face us as he explained, "This is the part the public don't get to see." We bent down to get past some large steel ventilation pipes. He pointed at the executive mansion.

"This is really the ground floor. Behind this wall are some of the state rooms, like the Diplomatic Reception Room, the China Room, that kinda thing." He indicated the area below us.

"But this is more interesting... the bas.e.m.e.nt, that's where it's at. In fact, there are two bas.e.m.e.nts. Bowling, rest areas, paint shop and repairs. There's even a bomb shelter down there."

Looking to the right, I saw windows that opened onto rooms under the White House driveway and lawn.

We came to a white, gla.s.s-paneled double door. Actually, it was more gray than white, now. You could tell this was the admin area. Davy kept the door open for me and Sarah. Josh followed.

We were now under the main staircase. Across the way the satellite crew were working under the eagle eye of an ERT escort. Davy gave him a wave.

"Hi, Jeff, good to see you, man."

Davy steered us toward the door that was nearest the other entrance, into which all the cables seemed to lead. Once through it, I was. .h.i.t straightaway by the smell: the heavy odor of school dinners and cleaning products that I'd known as a child and that, as I got older, I came to a.s.sociate with army cook houses or stairways of low-rent accommodation. We were in a hall about four meters wide, with polished floor tiles. The walls were stone, with a plaster skim and many years' worth of cream gloss paint. Grooves and concave shapes had been gouged into the plaster by carelessly pushed food trolleys, an empty one of which was parked up in the corridor.

Following the cables, we pa.s.sed an elevator and staircase on our left, then went through another door. It was like walking into a different world.

We emerged into the opulent splendor of marble walls and gla.s.s chandeliers, hanging from high cross-vaulted ceilings. The smell had disappeared.

Blocking the view to our left were two tall brown screens, positioned like a roadblock. Davy and Josh muttered greetings to the ERT and two Secret Service agents who were in the area. One of them had a blue tie with golfers in various poses, the other had a yellow one covered with little biplanes.

Davy said, "This is the ground floor hallway. We can't see down it today as the president will be here later on. He won't want to see all this stuff trailing around." He was pointing to the cabling.

Sarah wanted to know more.

"Why, what's happening in here? I thought everything was going on outside?"

Two television technicians walked past from left to right, escorted by their ERT minder. Josh was still talking quietly to the two Secret Service guys.

Davy whispered, "At about eleven, Arafat, Netanyahu and the president will be in the Diplomatic Reception Room for coffee." He nodded his head toward the TV crew, who were now walking back toward us.

"These guys are rigging up a remote for CNN that's going to put out live coverage.

The leaders stay there for twenty to thirty minutes, then move out for an early lunch."

Sarah was trying to work out where the Diplomatic Reception Room was, pointing past the screens.

"That's the oval-shaped room down there on the right, isn't it?"

Davy nodded.

"Yeah, after lunch they then move to the Blue Room.

That's the same shape and directly above on the first floor. Then, at one o'clock, they walk out onto the lawn and get blasted by the heavenly choir." He screwed up his face again at the thought of 200 kids out of tune.

Josh came over and joined us.

"Hey, guys, I think we'd better move on."

We got the hint. The Secret Service guys didn't want us around so near coffee time.

We started down the corridor to the right, following the cables. Davy sparked up, pointing at a large white double door at the end of the corridor.

"That leads to the west wing, where the briefing area is." The cable went through a door on the left of the corridor. We turned right and entered one of the admin areas. The smell came back to me. To the left was another elevator.

"That's the service elevator for the State Dining Room."

Davy was clearly enjoying his role as tour guide.

"It's directly above us on the first floor." To the right of the elevator was a spiral staircase.

We stopped by the elevator. Davy had a huge grin on his face.

"I gotta show you folks the burn marks you Brits made last time you made an unannounced visit!"

A trolley headed toward us, pushed by an efficient-looking, mid-fifties black guy in black trousers, waistcoat, tie and a very crisply laundered white shirt. It was laden with coffee pots, cups and saucers, biscuits of all sorts. The guy said, "Excuse me, gentlemen," then saw Sarah and added, "and lady," in a very courteous manner as he cruised past, the cups rattling on the metal trolley. Basically, of course, he was just telling us to get the f.u.c.k out of the way. He was a man with a mission.

We climbed down the spiral staircase as Davy continued his running commentary.

"We have two other elevators, one hundred and thirty-two rooms and thirty-three bathrooms."

Josh chipped in.

"And seven staircases."

I tried to raise a smile of acknowledgment. At any other time this would be interesting, but not now.

At the bottom we stopped by a pair of fire doors with thick wooden panels inset with two rectangular strips of wired, fire-resistant gla.s.s and covered with dirty hand marks where they got continuously pushed. Above them sat a large slab of stone supporting the archway. Black scorch marks were clearly visible.

"We've kept them there just as a little reminder of the sort of thing that happens when you guys come to town. Not that you stayed that long; we'd had more than enough of you by then."

There was more laughter. I saw Sarah check her watch.

Davy said, "You know, people think that it was called the White House after you Brits burned it down. Not so, it only got its name in 1901, under ..." He turned to Josh for the answer.

"Roosevelt." Josh looked at us sheepishly.

"Hey, if you work here you have to know these things."

There wasn't much we could say, and there was only so much burned stone we could look at. After a minute or so, Davy said, "OK, let's go bowl a few."

As we pushed our way through the fire doors, I could see maybe twenty-five or thirty meters of white painted corridor in front of me, each side of which had white wooden doors slightly inset into the walls. The whole area had a functional feel. It was lit by strip lighting, with secondary lighting boxes positioned at key points in case of power failure or fire. The same cook house-and-polish smell hung in the air. There was no activity down here at all. Our footsteps squeaked on the tiles and echoed along the corridor.

We came to a pile of cardboard boxes and bulging bin liners stacked against the wall.

"It's just like any other house," Davy said.

"All the junk goes into the bas.e.m.e.nt."

We pa.s.sed several of the white doors and came to a gray metal one with a slowly flashing red bulb above it. Davy pointed up.

"Let's see who's in."