Donna wrapped her arms around me and turned on her best pout. "Are you sure you can't tell me anything more about where you're going?"

"It's just a grip and grin to Greece with the Vice-President." I shrugged, backing against the kitchen counter. "We'll spend more time in the air than we will on the ground."

"Then why do they need you?" Her eyes, mine too, sat in darkened sockets-the result of another five-alarm night.

"My internationally-famous charm?" I grinned in vain.

She pulled away but I held firm.

"You promised, Josh. You promised you'd put the family first."

"I do, Donna..."

"Then why are you leaving me with three toddlers and a premature infant to go running off on a glorified photo-op with Hoynes?" She jerked away.

I dragged my hand down my face then gripped the edge of the counter. "Please don't do this, Donna. Not now."

"That's what I'm asking," she folded her arms and leaned against the refrigerator. "Let Sam go, let Toby go. They don't have the responsibilities you have."

"No, they don't," I agreed. "And that's why I have to go."

She studied me hard for a long minute. "This is more than you're telling me, isn't it?"

I studied the floor.

"How important is it?" she challenged.

I met her glare. "As important as it gets."

She drew and let out a ragged breath. "Is it dangerous?"

Silently, I pulled her into my embrace, each of us clinging to the other until Lurcael's familiar knock rattled the door. "I am my beloved's," I whispered into her sweet, soft hair.

"And my beloved is mine," she promised, our hands threaded together until the instant the door separated us.

Air Force Two, although smaller than the commodious Presidential transport, still offered many conveniences unavailable on commercial conveyance. It carried the same state of the art DOD-grade communications capabilities as the President's plane, as well as amenities such as a staff conference room, which the Vice-President and his entourage occupied at this moment, making last-minute adjustments to a campaign photo op so it wouldn't look quite so much like a campaign photo op.

I sat in a staff work area, files for my meeting spread around me. It was quiet, the jet engines droning out most noise, a still night without turbulence. I closed my eyes for just an instant, just to rest them and the next thing I heard was, "Jesus, boy, you look like hell."

I jerked upright, briefing book screeching across the table, before forming an intelligent reply, "Huh?"

"Sleep a rare commodity at your house?" Albie Duncan drawled, his voice as time-worn as his face.

"And at the White House," I corrected.

"Well, that's nothing new," he chuckled, folding himself into the seat across the table and tenting his hands.

I checked my watch.

"Another hour to Athens," the Vice-President announced. I tried, unsuccessfully, to stand but Albie Duncan only nodded.

John Hoynes offered his hand. "You guys have a contingency plan in case this all goes to hell?"

Duncan's Missouri baritone twanged. "Believe me, Mr. Vice-President. If this all goes to hell, there won't be enough left of either of us to require first-class postage."

With sincere good wishes he left us, and when the plane landed, instead of leaving with Hoynes, we exited with the crew. A military helicopter awaited and within an hour we were shaking the hand of the Turkish Deputy Prime Minister.

It was nearly noon and the tang of the sea seasoned the sweet smell of flowers carried on the light breeze in the corridor through which Albie Duncan and I followed a guardsman to a tiled conference room.

"Showtime," I muttered as we crossed the threshold joining representatives from ten Muslim nations. I dipped my head in deference, shooting Duncan a rueful glance: we'd invited twice that many. We took our places at the table and, twelve hours later, walked into the spicy moonlight with little more than throbbing headaches. Another helicopter ride back to Athens and we plodded across the tarmac to Air Force Two. Seated again in the staff cabin I leaned across the table to Duncan, "That was a waste of time," the bitter taste of failure putting an edge to my voice.

"It's too soon to tell," Duncan shook his head, "things over here tend to have their own time schedule."

"Well," I rubbed my eyes, "considering all we agreed on was that terrorism is bad but couldn't quite define it any more specifically than 'what the other guys are doing'..."

"Patience, my boy," Albie grinned. "This was just the preview. The real deal will be the next one."

I opened my briefing book and gazed at the faces in a picture I pulled from the pocket. "I hope so, Albie."

Chasing the moon, it was still dark when we landed at Edwards. For once, my detail came in handy, for I could barely walk, much less drive. Dumping my things just inside the door, I staggered down the hall, stopping for a few minutes at each bed. The boys, aged three and two, shared a room sleeping in twin rather than bunk beds. Our older daughter, who was one, stirred while I watched her slumber in one of two cribs. Her baby sister, born twelve weeks too soon, slept fitfully in a crib in our room, her breathing monitor taking up a corner of the dresser. Rubbing the baby's back, I turned toward the bathroom and succumbed to the shower's siren call.

"Hi," Still damp, I curled around my wife and whispered into her hair.

"You're home," she cooed, then snuggled back into my embrace. "I was hoping you'd make it today."

"Today?"

"Today was supposed to have been the pixie's birthday." She lay her hand against the cradle. "And since she is your daughter, she couldn't wait three months to finish."

"How efficient of her," I observed. Stroking Donna's arm I asked, "How's she sleeping?"

"Up four times already," Donna said wearily. "How'd it go?"

"How'd it go here?"

"Partly cloudy with scattered showers," she grinned. "We all get whiny when you're away. Including your mom." I felt her tense, slightly. "Was it worth it? The trip?"

This was the first volley in an exchange that was repeated with increasing intensity after every trip away. "It was important, Donna."

She rolled to face me but backed away. "As important as your family, Joshua? We needed you here."

"My family, and a lot of other families, is why it's important."

I felt the temperature drop. "You promised, Josh." Then she turned her back to me. I curled myself around her, but we didn't quite fit together, somehow.

Leo, the next morning, asked about the negotiations. I replied, tiredly, "I've seen glaciers move faster."

"Keep at it; you never know what's happening behind the scenes."

"I know," I scrubbed my hand over my sandpaper eyes.

"How were things at home?"

"Unseasonably cool."

But Albie Duncan and I persisted. Occasionally, the President or Vice-President would visit a Muslim nation and we'd tag along, meeting with representatives. Increasingly, though, we worked independently.

Although sparse at first, attendance at our little peace sessions increased some after a suicide bombing in Amman in May of 2006. But one single word in a communique, intercepted in September 2006, caused the rest of them to come on board:

Smallpox.

My phone rang at 1:00 a.m. Donna had long since stopped waking at something so trivial as a phone call and by 2:00 I sat in the Situation Room.

Nancy McNally looked as tired as we all felt. "According to sources developed by Saudi intelligence, several extremist Muslim groups have arranged to buy weapons-grade smallpox manufactured by a defunct bio-weapons lab in Russia."

For once, even Percy Fitzwallace was speechless.

McNally continued. "No targets are specified, but you can bet we'll be near the top of the list."

"What are the casualty estimates?" Leo's voice, once a near-bellow, was now as papery-thin as his skin.

Fitz looked down the table. "Ten percent military," the specialist from Fort Marlene answered.

"And civilian?" the President asked.

They looked to Jack Buckland, who looked at me, sitting behind Leo and the President, "Twenty-five to fifty percent."

"I had no idea it would be that many," the President's face grayed.

I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees. "I'll be happy if it's that few."

The President and Leo's eyes widened and we spent the next three hours coordinating the military and civilian responses to the threat.

The sky was still dark when I set my backpack on my desk and sorted out the stack of message slips. The phone rang and Albie Duncan's voice grated over the line.

"Mecca, day after tomorrow," he said without preamble.

"Who's coming?"

I could almost hear his grim grin spreading across his face, "Everyone."

"'Kay," I barely replied before the dial tone droned in my ear. Hesitantly, I dialed home.

"'lo?" Donna's voice was thick from sleep.

"Hey."

"What's wrong?" Irritation sharpened her tone.

"Something's come up," I began.

"No."

"I have to, Donna," I drew circles on my desk with my finger, "it's my responsibility."

"So are we, Josh."

"I know, it's just..."

"Just what, Josh?" I could hear the bed creak. "You promised me, before we ever started a family, that you'd put us first."

"I know..."

"You promised," her voice was wild, desperate.

"It's important."

She paused a moment. "Important enough to sacrifice your family?"

"Will I have to?"

"Maybe," her voice quivered. "Don't make me a widow while you're still alive. It will happen soon enough."

My own blood pounded through my veins as I pondered my Solomon's choice. Stirring absently through the morass of papers on my desk I spied a familiar piece of cardstock paper. "Hold on." I punched Leo's number informing him of my plan rather than asking permission. He yelled but did not disagree. Then I dialed the Travel Office, Albie Duncan, and the Air Force Chief of Staff, in that order before punching Donna's line again. I could hear small voices, including our tiny, fifteen-month-old Pixie, in the background. "Donna," I said firmly, "here's what we're going to do."

Chapters - Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23

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