Everything seemed in pristine shape.

"I maintain them yearly," Kelly said. "New batteries, new wiring. Of course, the cylinders are stainless steel, and all the parts inside are made of noncorrosive metals."

He knew there were no moving parts and nothing depended on gears or springs. Once the electrical charge activated the trigger, simple physics took over, generating a coffin of solarlike heat and flame that would vaporize everything within a kilometer.

"Will they explode?"

"Absolutely. They're all in perfect working order."

"You understand that the inauguration this year takes place inside the White House," he said to Kelly.

"As the one in 1985 did."

He'd not realized.

"That was the whole idea, Aleksandr. It's why Fool's Mate was initially created. At Ronald Reagan's second swearing-in they all gathered in the White House, at noon on Sunday, January 20. But Andropov was long dead by then and the bombs weren't here. I thought the whole thing over until that call came in 1988 from Backward Pawn. Then everything seemed back on. But still, no order to act was given. A shame, really. The Americans regard the White House as ultrasecure, though 9/11 probably gave them pause on that one."

But he caught something in addition to the tone. Certainty? Pride? "What is it you know?"

Kelly smiled. "They have forgotten their own history."

Cassiopeia nestled close to the trunk of a tall pine, staring at the darkened hulk of a house and barn. Zorin and Kelly had disappeared inside the barn about fifteen minutes ago, and all had remained quiet ever since. Cotton had swung around to the rear of the house and should be, by now, near the barn entrance. She'd assumed a cover position to keep an eye on the big picture, and make sure they were not graced with any uninvited visitors.

The night was wintry cold, but bearable. She'd ditched the French cold-weather gear in favor of American issue, which the Secret Service had provided. She also carried an automatic pistol, the magazine full, spares in her pocket. Cotton, too, was properly dressed, armed, and ready.

And she agreed with him.

Zorin and Kelly had to be stopped here.

Malone crept to the barn, careful not to trip on any branches, roots, or slippery rocks. The door had been closed a few minutes ago, outlined for a while by a faint chink of light, now gone. As he came closer he noticed that it had not been latched, nor locked, just pushed shut.

He had to see inside.

But he'd already reconnoitered the entire exterior and the barn came with no windows.

There was only one way.

Zorin realized that what Kelly was about to tell him formed the missing element he'd been seeking, the one Anya had come to learn.

The second move of Fool's Mate.

"You can't just walk up to the White House fence and lay down a suitcase," he said.

Kelly smiled. "We don't have to do that. There's an easier way."

He stared at the five weapons, nearly thirty kilotons of nuclear power.

"All I have to do is change the battery in one of these and it's ready to transport," Kelly said. "The batteries are only a few months old, but no sense taking a chance."

Which explained Kelly's purchase of the six-volt power sources. He knew how it worked. Activate the switch inside the case and the battery sent a charge to the detonator. The one drawback was the low voltage, which took time to build enough heat to activate the trigger, sending the uranium colliding. About fifteen minutes, if he recalled, and he asked Kelly if that was still true.

"More or less, depending on the temperature around the case."

Which meant the switch had to be flicked no later than 11:45 tomorrow morning.

But first.

"Where is the point of convergence?"

Kelly smiled. "It's a fascinating story, Aleksandr. Which started long ago, when the White House burned."

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE.

Luke rushed from the closet, telling Begyn to stay inside, but the older man ignored the command and ran with him. More gunfire resonated from beyond the bedroom, in the outer corridor, this time rifle fire. Sue was apparently firing back.

But at whom?

Luke stopped his advance at the double doors, assuming a position to the side of the jamb with Begyn next to him, and called out, "What's happening?"

"We've got company," Sue yelled. "Two I could see. They're downstairs but are trying to get up here."

"Stay here," he said to Begyn, who also held a revolver.

He fled his position and moved down the corridor, keeping close to the wall. Ahead, beyond where the staircase ended, past the ornate balustrade on the far side he spotted Sue, crouched low, the rifle in her grasp.

Automatic gunfire exploded from below, and the spindles supporting the second-floor railing were obliterated as metal tore through wood. Then two objects flew over the top and clattered to the floor.

He knew that sound.

Grenades.

He dove back and hit the floor, covering his head, hoping Sue had done the same.

Both exploded.

Malone eased open the barn door, careful that no sound betrayed his presence. He slipped into the still interior, moving lightly, his shin brushing against a wheelbarrow. Something scuttled, which startled him. The air smelled old and used. The only light shone up from a circular hole in the ground amid a long pile of wood.

A hatchway.

Leaking from it was a mumble of voices.

A quick survey of the interior satisfied him he was alone. Apparently, both Kelly and Zorin were belowground.

He crept to the hatch and saw that it was equipped with no hasp or lock, no way to seal it shut. Too bad-that would have been perfect. But that did not mean he couldn't trap them below. Enough wood piled on top should be sufficient to keep them contained.

But that depended on there being only one way in and out.

An assumption he would have to make.

He also noticed three wires nearby in an excavated box, one set disconnected.

The booby trap.

Now disarmed.

Perfect.

He had them right where he wanted.

Luke rolled onto his back and stared back at the boiling orange flame and rising cloud of smoke and dust.

"Sue."

"I'm okay," she answered.

He glanced back toward the bedroom and spotted Begyn, who was hustling toward him.

"They're coming up the stairs," Sue warned.

He sprang to his feet and plunged into the cloud, looking left where he recalled the stairs ended, and saw a black form racing up.

He fired twice, sending the body rolling backward across the risers toward the ground floor.

That was too easy.

Then he saw why.

Flames erupted from an automatic rifle, bullets whining through the air. He dropped back and used the nearby wall for cover, but not before seeing the man he shot rise to his feet and begin his climb again.

Damn Kevlar.

Next time shoot for the head.

Something solid hit the wall ten feet away.

Then another, and another.

He heard the same familiar clatter on the wood floor and leaped for Begyn, taking the man down just as three explosions generated a bright sunshine that lit the darkness. Fire erupted with a fury, the house's dry brittle wood and plaster quickly succumbing. More smoke poured out and gouts of orange flame reached toward the ceiling.

A black silhouette emerged from the smoke, darkly clad, wearing a protective vest and aiming a rifle straight at him where he lay on the floor. He hoped to God Begyn had enough sense to not be a hero like Peter Hedlund. The man stood over them, gun pointed straight down. In the halo of light he searched the face for nerves, apprehension, or doubt. He saw none, his own gun concealed beneath his partially rolled body.

He decided to feign pain and squirmed.

"Stay still," the man warned.

His captor leaned forward, shoulders hunched, head tilted, staring down the length of his weapon in an effort at intimidation. Luke rolled a little more, his eyes now facing toward Begyn.

He screwed them up, along with his face, as if in pain.

"I have two of them," the man called out.

Luke reversed the roll, settling on his spine, the gun now exposed, which he fired into the man's thigh, dropping him to the floor. He sprang to his feet and grabbed the rifle. A spark of compassion flared, then passed. No time to mess around. He shot the man in the head.

Fire and smoke raged, making their way down the hall toward the master bedroom.

"Sue," he screamed. "Sue."

No reply.

Not good.

"Where is she?" Begyn asked.

"She's a big girl. We have to go."

They retreated to the bedroom. The window on the far side shattered as something solid passed through. Another window crackled to shards as a second projectile flew inside. He and Begyn dove toward the heavy four-poster bed.

The grenades exploded.

The room's ceiling began to rain down as a new fire started, engulfing the floor and furnishings, blocking their way to the closet where the Tallmadge journal had been left. That was the least of his worries, though. Smoke and carbon monoxide consumed the air. Both he and Begyn began to cough. He could feel a weakness in his lungs as the oxygen in the room diminished. He pointed toward the broken windows, but grabbed the older man just before he plunged his head out. Instead, he yanked a pillow from the bed and tossed it out the window.

Retorts could be heard outside.

Just as he suspected.

The idea had been to either kill them with the grenades or draw them to the windows for easy pickin's.

They were quickly running out of options.

Cassiopeia kept time on how long Cotton had been inside the barn. It was not a large structure so there couldn't be all that many places to hide. He'd apparently thought it safe enough to enter, which made her wonder just exactly what was happening.