The President Is Missing

by James Patterson

  A Marine helicopter lands on the helipad in the backyard, preparing to whisk them away.

  Chapter

  96

  Here we go.

  From her perch in the white pine, Bach looks through the scope of her rifle at the backyard.

  Breathe. Relax. Aim. Squeeze.

  The military helicopter, using sound suppression that reduces the roar of the rotating blades to a gentle whisper, sets down on the pad.

  The cabin door opens. She steels herself.

  The leaders walk out of the cabin, illuminated by the porch lights.

  She marks each of them as they exit, sees the opportunity for clean shots to the head.

  The Israeli prime minister.

  The German chancellor.

  The Russian prime minister.

  Others walking out, too. She scans their faces. One second, that’s all she will need now that she’s ready—

  Breathe. Relax. Aim. Squeeze.

  A dark-haired man—

  —her finger caresses the trigger—

  Negative.

  Adrenaline surging through her body. This is it, and she’s done forever—

  Long-haired man—

  No. Not her target.

  The cabin door remains open.

  And then it closes.

  “Jebi ga,” she curses to herself. He never came out. He’s still inside.

  The helicopter lifts. She feels the rush of air as it rises and angles away, quickly disappearing in relative silence.

  He won’t leave the cabin. He won’t come to them.

  So they’ll have to go to him.

  She sets down her rifle and lifts her binoculars. US Secret Service remaining on the lawn, manning the back porch as well. They have laid down flares around the perimeter of the yard to enhance the lighting in the dark.

  What happens next will be much riskier.

  “Team 1 in position,” she hears in her ear.

  “Team 2 in position.”

  And much bloodier.

  Chapter

  97

  Hurry,” I say to Devin and Casey in the basement, while Devin, plugged into the Pentagon systems, works to mark all Pentagon files as deleted. Realizing, as I say it, that he’s going as fast as he can and that my badgering doesn’t help matters.

  My phone buzzes. “Liz,” I say, answering it.

  “Mr. President, we downloaded the contents of Nina’s second phone. You need to see them right away.”

  “Okay. How?”

  “I’ll send them straight to your phone, right now.”

  “Everything? What am I looking for?”

  “There was only one thing she ever used the phone for,” Liz says. “Just one thing. She was using a burner phone and texting with another burner. Nina was communicating with our insider, Mr. President. She was text-messaging with our…our traitor.”

  My blood goes cold. There was always a small part of me that wanted to believe that there was no traitor, that Nina and Augie had learned the code word “Dark Ages” some other way, that none of my people was capable of doing this.

  “Tell me who, Liz,” I say, a tremble in my voice. “Who did it?”

  “No names, sir. I just sent it.”

  “I’ll read it and call you back.”

  I end the call.

  “Devin, Casey!” I call out. “I’m going into the communications room. The moment you’re ready, you call out to me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  My phone beeps an instant later, a message from Liz. There is a document attached, which I open as I head into the communications room, Alex behind me.

  The document displays as a transcript, the participants in the communication designated as either “Nina” or “U/C,” for “unknown caller”—I prefer “traitor” or “Judas” or “Benedict Arnold”—and broken down by date and time.

  The first text message comes from the unknown caller on May 4. That was a Friday. That was the day after I returned from my European trip, the day after the news broke that the United States had thwarted an assassination attempt on Suliman Cindoruk and that the mother of a dead CIA operative was demanding answers.

  I look at the first grouping of texts from May 4 and notice the location of the unknown caller:

  1600 Pennsylvania Avenue

  The text messages came from the White House. Whoever it is communicated from within the walls of the White House. It’s…unfathomable. I put that aside and start reading:

  Friday, May 4

  U/C: 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue

  Nina: Location unknown

  ** All times Eastern Standard Time **

  U/C (7:52 AM): I read your note, obviously. Who are you, and how do I know this is serious?

  Nina (7:58 AM): U know I’m real. How else would I know the precise moment, down 2 the second, that the virus appeared on your Pentagon server?

  Nina (8:29 AM): No response? U have nothing to say?

  Nina (9:02 AM): U don’t believe me? Fine. Then watch your country go down in Instead of being hero, u can explain to the POTUS that u could have stopped this but didn’t. From hero to so sad!!

  Nina (9:43 AM): Why would I lie about this? What do u have 2 lose? Why r u ignoring me??

  I think back to the timing. We had a meeting of the national security team that morning. My inner circle, all in the White House.

  Whoever this is was texting from that meeting.

  I keep reading. Nina continues to pursue the unknown caller:

  Nina (9:54 AM): I guess u don’t want to be the hero, then just bury head in sand and pretend like I don’t exist ???

  Nina (9:59 AM):

  Nina (10:09 AM): Maybe u will believe me after Toronto

  Toronto. Right. That Friday was the day the Toronto subway system screeched to a halt, shut down entirely by a computer virus that we assumed was the work of the Sons of Jihad. It happened during the evening rush hour. Nina was texting about it that morning, before it happened. Just as she told me about the helicopter crash in Dubai before it happened.

  So that explains how this came about, at least. I’ve been wondering how this whole thing began, how a cyberterrorist and a member of my national security team ever got acquainted in the first place. Nina initiated the conversation. She somehow got word to the Judas in our inner circle.

  But whoever that insider is, why didn’t he or she just tell me right away? The moment that note was received, why not tell me about it? Why keep it a secret?

  How differently this all could have turned out if the insider had just come to me at that point.

  I scroll down. That’s it for May 4.

  The next communication is the following day—Saturday, May 5, in the morning. Again, the unknown caller texting from the White House.

  Smart, I realize. The traitor recognized that his or her location might be traced all the way down to the street address, to 1600 Pennsylvania, and made sure to be in the presence of other high-level security officials at that time. Hiding within the inner circle. Cautious. Smart.

  I read:

  Saturday, May 5

  U/C: 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue

  Nina: Location unknown

  ** All times Eastern Standard Time **

  U/C (10:40 AM): So you’re serious. Is that what you’re going to do to our military systems, what you did to the Toronto subway last night?

  Nina (10:58 AM): That times a million. I have your attn now!!

  U/C (10:59 AM): Yes, I believe you now. You can stop this virus?

  Nina (11:01 AM): Yes I can tell u how to stop it

  U/C (11:02 AM): Telling me wouldn’t help. I don’t know enough about computers.

  Nina (11:05 AM): U don’t need to know anything I will tell u what u need simple simple

  U/C (11:24 AM): Then turn yourself in. Go to the nearest US embassy.

  Nina (11:25 AM): And go straight to Gitmo? No thanx!!!

  U/C (11:28 AM): Then just tell me how to stop the virus.

  Nina (11:31 AM):
Give up my leverage?? That’s the only reason u will give me amnesty. If I go first and tell u how to stop the virus, how do I know u will keep up your end of the deal?? No sorry that’s one thing I won’t do. Never

  U/C (11:34 AM): Then I can’t help you. You have to do this yourself.

  Nina (11:36 AM): Why can’t u help me?????

  U/C (11:49 AM): Because I’m in trouble now. You told me about Toronto yesterday, before it happened, and I didn’t say anything or tell anyone.

  Nina (11:51 AM): Why didn’t u tell anyone??

  U/C (11:55 AM): I didn’t believe you. And have you read the news? The president is getting crucified just for calling Suliman. And here I am, texting with someone who works with him. I made a mistake. But I can’t do anything about that now.

  But I believe you. Let me figure this out, ok? Just wait to hear from me, ok? Do we have time for that? When does the virus strike?

  Nina (11:57 AM): In one week. I will give u til tmrw no longer

  That’s the end of the Saturday, May 5, exchange. My mind is racing, trying to make sense of this. So this wasn’t some long-standing treasonous plan? It wasn’t blackmail. It wasn’t money. Just a mistake in judgment? One bad decision piled on top of another, and suddenly we’re in this mess?

  The next text comes from our Benedict Arnold, again from the White House, the following morning, Sunday, May 6:

  U/C (7:04 AM): I have an idea of how we can do this while keeping me out of it. Are you close to Paris?

  Chapter

  98

  A white van, bearing the logo of Lee’s Boats and Docks, turns off the Virginia county highway onto a gravel road. Up ahead, a barrier has been erected with a sign attached to it that reads PRIVATE PROPERTY—NO TRESPASSING. Beyond it, two black SUVs are parked perpendicular to the road.

  The driver of the van, who goes by Lojzik, stops the van and looks in the rearview mirror at the eight men in the rear compartment, all dressed in body armor. Four of them armed with AK-47s. The other four manning shoulder-launched assault weapons loaded with armor-penetrating rockets.

  “If I take off my hat,” he says, reminding them of the signal.

  Lojzik gets out of the car, looking the part of a lake guy, wearing a hat with a ripped visor, a flannel shirt, and torn jeans. He approaches the SUVs at the barricade, raising a hand as if posing a question.

  “Hello?” he says. “You fellas know how I find County Road 20?”

  No answer. The windows of the SUVs are tinted, so he can’t see inside.

  “Anyone there?” he asks.

  He asks again. And again. It’s what they thought: nobody’s occupying those SUVs. The Secret Service is spread too thin, especially with the other security now flying off in a Marine helicopter.

  So Lojzik doesn’t remove his cap, and the gunners don’t spill out to fire their rockets at the convoy.

  Good. They’ll need them for the cabin.

  Lojzik returns to the car and nods at the men. “Looks all clear to the cabin,” he says. “Hold on.”

  He drops the gear into Reverse and backs up to the end of the gravel road. Then he stops, puts the gear in Drive, and floors the gas pedal, hurtling the van toward the barricade.

  Moments later, a speedboat drifts slowly toward the small bay where Secret Service agents sit in a boat, well lit at dusk. Unlike team 1’s van, penetrating from the north, the boat only contains four men, the opportunity for concealment being far less.

  Two men stand at the bow of the boat. At their feet on the deck: the other two men, lying prone, and four AK-74 assault rifles fitted with under-barrel grenade launchers.

  “Stop your boat!” the Secret Service agent calls out through a megaphone. “This is restricted water!”

  The leader, a man named Hamid, cups his hand and yells toward the agents. “Can you tow us ashore? Our engine’s dead!”

  “Turn your boat around!”

  Hamid opens his arms. “I can’t. Engine’s dead!”

  The man standing next to Hamid, his head turned downward only slightly, says to the men at his feet, “On my command.”

  “Then drop anchor and we will send for help!”

  “You want me to—”

  “Do not advance! Drop anchor now!”

  The agents on the boat scramble, one heading to each side of the boat, one to the bow, each of them yanking off tarps, exposing mounted machine guns.

  “Now!” whispers Hamid, reaching down for one of the weapons.

  The hidden men jump to their feet with their AK-74s, their grenade launchers, and open fire on the Secret Service.

  Chapter

  99

  In the communications room, reading the text messages between Nina and our Benedict Arnold from Sunday, May 6, I now see how Lilly became involved. It was our insider’s way of getting Nina to access me directly without going through anyone else, keeping the insider’s fingerprints off the whole thing. Nina’s reply:

  Nina (7:23 AM): You want me to tell the president’s daughter?

  U/C (7:28 AM): Yes. If you give her the information, she will deliver it straight to her father. And the president will deal with you directly.

  Nina (7:34 AM): Do you think the president will make this deal with me?

  U/C (7:35 AM): Of course he will. Amnesty from your home government in exchange for saving our country? Of course he will! But you’ll have to go see him. Can you do that? Can you get to the US?

  Nina (7:38 AM): Do I have to see him in person?

  U/C (7:41 AM): Yes. He wouldn’t take your word for this over the phone.

  Nina (7:45 AM): I don’t know. How do I know he won’t ship me to Gitmo and torture me?

  U/C (7:48 AM): He wouldn’t. Trust me.

  The truth is, I don’t know what I would have been willing to do to stop this virus. I would have interrogated Nina if I thought it would get me answers.

  But it never got that far, because Nina made it clear—through Lilly, and then when she came to see me—that she had a partner who knew the other half of the puzzle. They were a package deal, Nina said, and if I detained her at the White House, I’d never meet the other half of the puzzle, and I’d never be able to stop the virus.

  Which is where we find ourselves now.

  Nina (7:54 AM): If I do this if I go see his daughter in Paris how do I know the president will take me seriously?

  U/C (7:59 AM): He will.

  Nina (8:02 AM): Why? U didn’t

  U/C (8:04 AM): Because I’m going to give you a code word that will give you instant credibility. The moment he hears that code, he will take you seriously. No question.

  Nina (8:09 AM): OK what is code

  U/C (8:12 AM): I have to trust you. This is codeword-classified information I’m disclosing. I wouldn’t just have to resign my position. I’d go to prison. You get that?

  Nina (8:15 AM): Yeah Edward Snowden Chelsea Manning?

  U/C (8:17 AM): Basically. I’m risking everything to help you. I’m trusting you.

  Nina (8:22 AM): We have to trust EACH OTHER. I won’t ever tell anyone who you are or what you told me. Swear to God!!

  U/C (9:01 AM): All right. I am taking the risk of my life right now. I hope you understand that. I hope I can trust you.

  Nina (9:05 AM): I do. U can

  So that’s how Nina learned “Dark Ages.” And the day after this exchange of text messages—just five days ago, this past Monday—Nina found Lilly in Paris at the Sorbonne and whispered “Dark Ages” in her ear. Lilly called me, and I’ve spent the last four-plus days trying to figure out who the insider is.

  So far I’m no closer to knowing that. I scroll down to the next page—

  “Mr. President!” The voice of Casey, calling to me. “We’re ready!”

  I rush out of the communications room, Alex following me, and find Casey, Devin, and Augie in the war room.

  “Ready to activate the virus?” I say. I put down my phone on a desk and stand behind Devin.

  Casey turns to me. “Mr.
President, before we do this: you understand that we don’t know whether the virus is communicating between devices. It’s possible that each virus on each device around the country is independently timed to go off. But it’s also possible that the virus on one computer will signal to the others, that it will send an ‘execute’ command to set off the virus simultaneously on all affected devices.”

  “Yes, you said that before.”

  “My point being, sir, I hope this works—but if it doesn’t, and the virus detonates on the Pentagon server, it might activate on the millions and probably billions of devices around the country. Our worst-case scenario will come true if our plan doesn’t work.”

  “It worked on the trial run,” I say.

  “Yes, it did. We’ve done our best to reverse-engineer the virus for our trials. But I cannot tell you with 100 percent certainty that our re-creation was perfect. We’ve only had hours to do this, working quickly. So I can’t tell you this will work on the real virus.”

  I take a deep breath. “If we do nothing, this virus will go off soon anyway,” I say. “Maybe a minute from now, maybe a few hours at most—but it’s coming soon. And this scheme we devised—it’s the closest thing we’ve come up with to stop the virus. Right?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s the only thing that’s even remotely succeeded.”

  “So?” I shrug. “Do you have a better idea?”

  “I don’t, sir. I just want you to understand. If this doesn’t work…”

  “Everything could go to shit. I get it. This could be a big win for us, or it could be Armageddon.” I look at Augie. “What do you think, Augie?”

  “I agree with your reasoning, Mr. President. This is our best bet. Our only bet.”

  “Casey?”

  “I agree. We should try it.”

  “Devin?”

  “Agreed, sir.”

  I rub my hands together. “Let’s do it, then.”

  Devin’s fingers hover over the keyboard. “Here goes—”

  “What?” Alex Trimble, standing near me, jumps as he puts his finger against his earbud. “North route has been breached? Viper!” he yells into his radio. “Viper, do you copy, Viper?” In one fluid motion, Alex is on me, gripping my arm and pulling me. “In the communications room, Mr. President! We need to lock down. It’s the safest—”