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something happen to him, anybody who tried to break open the disk’s case would be in for a hot surprise when ten grams of Thermoflex went up with enough heat to melt the case, the disk and the fingers of anybody stupid enough to be holding both.
        The White House Secure System was a set of special computers without any links to the outside world, along with state-of-the-art antivirals and sweepers installed, so once his information was installed there, it would be safe.
        Still, he was tired, had drunk too much coffee, and he wanted nothing more than to find a bed far away from all this and sleep for a week.
         Well, too bad. That’s not what you signed on for, now is it ?
        The virgil cheeped.
        “Yes?”
        “Alex? You ready?”
        The Director. “Yes, sir. I should be there in about five minutes.”
        “Anything new I should know about?”
        “Nothing substantial.”
        “All right. Discom.”
        The procession arrived at the West Gate. Alex alighted, was checked by the metal detectors, bomb sniffers and an HOS-a hard-objects scanner-this latter a new device designed to keep ceramic or plastic guns and knives from sneaking past. He checked his taser, got a receipt and visitor badge, then ran the gamut of Marine sentries at the door who checked his ID. The Situation Room where his meeting was scheduled was one of the older ones, one level down, under the Oval Office.
        Another pair of Marines inspected his badge as he exited the small elevator, and a trio of Secret Service agents in suits nodded or spoke to him as he headed toward the Situation Room. He knew two of them, one of whom had been with the Bureau back when Alex had been stationed in Idaho.
        “Morning, Commander Michaels,” his old Idaho friend said.
        “Hey, Bruce.” The term “Commander” still made him uneasy. He hadn’t even wanted this job. He sure as hell hadn’t wanted it at the cost of Steve Day’s life. The silver lining here was that being in charge gave him the best chance of catching Day’s killers. And he was damned sure going to do that.
        A final check, the thumbprint scanner, and the door opened to admit Alex.
        Inside, Director Carver was already seated at a long table shaped like the office above the room, sipping coffee from a china cup. Standing to his left was NSO Assistant Director Sheldon Reed, making a call on his virgil. A middle-aged secretary in a tweed skirt and white silk blouse sat at a small table off to the side, a steno pad in front of her and a voxax unlinked recorder next to the pad, that next to a computer station. A Marine in dress uniform poured coffee from a silver pot into a cup balanced perfectly on a saucer, then set the steaming brew down next to Carver on the right-that would be Alex’s seat, and the server would know he took it black. Hardcopy reports duplicating the ones Michaels carried were inside sealed folders that lay upon the table in front of each chair.
        Carver smiled his professional smile at Alex and nodded at the seat next to him. Alex was halfway there when the door opened and the President and his Chief of Staff, Jessel Leon, entered the room.
        “Good morning, gentlemen.” The President nodded at the secretary and smiled. “And Mrs. Upton. I’ve got a busy schedule, so let’s get right to it. Walt?”
        “Mr. President. Around midnight, Steve Day, the Commander of the FBI’s Net Force, was assassinated. You know Alex Michaels-I’ve bumped him into Day’s chair. He’ll lay out the situation as we now know it.”
        “Helluva way to get a promotion,” the President said, nodding at Michaels. He sounded a little nervous. Worrying that maybe he’d be the next target? “Okay, let’s hear it.”
        Michaels took a deep breath, as quietly as he could. He walked to the computer, opened the coded disk packet he carried and handed the disk to the secretary. She inserted the disk, and