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“There’s one more vital piece of information you need to know.” He lowered his voice. “I can’t guarantee the FBI SWAT teams will know you’re there. As you can imagine, it’s a delicate situation with outsiders being involved in bureau business. I’ll do everything within my power to make contact up there, but you should assume they won’t know you’re there.”
    Nathan just stared at the man.
    “That means anyone not wearing SWAT uniforms will be fair game.”
    Nathan nodded. “When is the raid?”
    “Tomorrow at fourteen-thirty hours.”
    “A daylight raid. One more question. Does my father know of our involvement?”
    Frank answered without hesitation. “Yes.”
     

Chapter  3
    It was a windy evening in the nation’s capital. The horizon’s last remnant of violet was fading to black. Four miles high, lit from the amber glow of the city, thin clouds drifted toward the east. Fall colors had come early. Red and orange cherry leaves lined the sidewalks and gutters.
    The office of the Committee on Domestic Terrorism, or CDT, was located in the Russell Senate Office Building. Its members met in a lavish conference room furnished with high-backed leather chairs surrounding an oval, mahogany table. The walls were adorned with oil portraits of every president. A corner table hosted a pitcher of ice water. In the opposite corner, a matching table supported an elegant flower arrangement that perfumed the air with the scent of stargazer lilies. It was an impressive room, appropriate for the purpose it served: Protecting the nation’s security from homegrown threats.
    The moment CDT Chairman Stone McBride strode into the room, all conversation ended. At six-four, the senator had a commanding presence. Like the trained Marine he was, Stone kept his gray hair short and formal. Deep blue eyes complemented a square jawline. The man looked like a career politician because he was a career politician. He offered a friendly smile when he wanted something and an unfriendly smile when he didn’t get it.
    Now seventy-eight, the senior senator from New Mexico had earned the nickname “Stonewall” during the Korean War. It happened in March 1951 during the advance to Line Boston on the south bank of the Han River south of Seoul. His Marine platoon had been reassigned to shore up I Corps. They’d been pinned down by machine-gun and mortar fire for half an hour. In an act of rage more than anything else, he’d climbed to the edge of his foxhole, stood up, leveled his M1 at the hip, and emptied five clips at the enemy position. Bullets had thumped the ground in front of him, not one of them finding its mark. Inspired, the platoon to his left added their bullets, giving the platoon on his right the chance to advance and overrun the enemy’s mortar position. Stone had been decorated for that reckless bit of bravery, receiving his nickname in the process.
    “Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Stone said. “I apologize for the late hour, but the subject matter demands it.” He made eye contact with everyone seated around the table. “I’ve called for this meeting because of a critical new development. I’ve already been briefed, but everyone here needs to know about the new threat.”
    The CDT consisted of a hardworking group of five men and four women, all handpicked by the senator. Each of them represented a federal law-enforcement agency. It was the first group of its kind. A prototype. In theory, having a representative of each agency encouraged mutual cooperation and sharing of information. In reality, tension often filled the room. But despite their many differences, they all shared one thing in common: loyalty to the United States of America. Without exception, everyone seated around the table shared a strong resolve to defend and protect the security of the nation.
    Stone turned his radar toward his right-hand man, the FBI’s member, Special Agent Leaf Watson. Watson was a career fed who’d