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A few nods showed he wasn’t the only one disappointed at how they had become the hunted.

“So when will our President join us?” asked Mellon.

“Shortly,” offered Walter.

“How did you manage it? I mean, how have you got him here? You couldn’t get a call returned yesterday!” asked Lawrence Harkness, mindful of Lawson’s statement that their plan was ruined when Russell got the presidency without them.

“That’s simple. I know Andrew Russell better than anyone. In his life, there are two things he aspires to. The first and foremost is the presidency but that my friends has a lifespan of no more than eight years. His second and perhaps to us most important and to whom we have our dearly departed friend to thank,” he said raising his glass to the empty chair. “Is to become a member of the world’s most powerful and exclusive club. Gentlemen,” he raised his glass in the air again. “The Alibi Club!”

Smiles emitted from each of the group. Membership to the Alibi club was lifelong and the death of James Lawson had created an irresistible opportunity.

“Brilliant!” congratulated Mellon. The image of his presidential motorcade becoming clearer by the second.

Sam had left Rebecca behind in the room, completely understanding her dilemma. Also, if he were to be honest, it took some pressure off. Looking after himself was one thing, having to worry about somebody else at the same time was not ideal. He had spent the day preparing everything he needed. Between camping stores and DIY stores, he had secured it all.

Rebecca had, in the meantime, busied herself with tracking down potential leads for the nuclear weapon. While Sam shopped, she had hit the phones and it seemed had made some progress. While he was leaving to go to the Alibi Club, she was heading to the Palestinian Embassy, chasing a tip.

Sam had been in position for over two hours when the first limo arrived. His route into position across the rooftops had been long and circuitous. The Secret Service guys had done an excellent job, almost perfect, but fortunately for Sam, they had left the tiniest of blind spots. However, it had taken over an hour for the watcher to turn around long enough for Sam to get to it but nonetheless, it existed and Sam was in place. Moving would be a different matter entirely. The Secret Service had that well covered.

Rebecca had taken up position in the Starbucks opposite the Palestinian Embassy. Like Sam, she was just awaiting for her opportunity. It was almost eight when eventually the last light was extinguished and she had her chance. As the door was shut behind the last Palestinian, she was up and moving. Time was not on her side.

She walked up to the door and taking the key she had been given by the Head of Mossad in Washington earlier that day, she unlocked the door and entered silently. It seemed the local Mossad agents had secured a key some time ago and carried out regular checks, completely unbeknownst to the Palestinians, of what the Palestinians were up to.

Rebecca didn’t find anything that looked as though it would help her find the bomb but as she finished up and left, she smiled. The journey hadn’t been a complete waste of time.

As she stepped back onto the street, she wished she could help Sam more but Ben had been explicit. She was to stay well clear.

The President’s motorcade waited for him. He was due to finish his last appointment at around 8.30 pm. Thereafter, he was going to spend the evening with friends at his private club. All of course was true. The one bit that wasn’t entirely true was the reference to his club. This was not yet the case. He would be a guest this evening. However he was hoping that status would change very quickly.

At 8.30 to the second, he excused himself from his, he had to admit, exceptionally dull guests and made his journey to the Alibi club. He jumped into the car and found Honey, sitting waiting for him.

“Sorry, Mister President, do you mind if we run through your schedule on the way?”

It was a very short three-minute drive to the Alibi Club and hardly seemed worthwhile. However, not one to refuse a very pretty young lady, he smiled and jumped in beside her. Before they even pulled away, Honey was undoing the President’s zip and promising she would have him coming before he knew it. She lowered her head into his lap as the President rested his on the headrest, thanking God for blacked out windows, amongst many other things.

The President’s announcement that morning that he was visiting the Alibi Club that same evening had caused more than a little concern amongst his Secret Service detail, particularly as the President himself had asked for security to be significantly increased just the day before, for no apparent reason, other than ‘a bad feeling’.

The Alibi Club was locked down tight. Nobody was getting in or out of there. Of that they were sure. The journey to the club would be in the presidential limousine, nicknamed ‘The Beast’ and, immune to pretty much any form of attack. It was bullet proof, rocket proof, gas proof, fire proof. In fact just about everything proof. Unlike normal motorcades, as this was a personal trip, they had trimmed it down from the normal thirty vehicles to just four. Even that was probably overkill. Nobody knew the President was going out, never mind where he was actually going.

As the motorcade swept out of the grounds, only a small throng of tourists witnessed the cars leaving. Not one of them took any more notice than normal. Cameras clicked as they sped past. A right turn onto 17 St NW was followed two blocks later by a left onto Pennsylvania Avenue NW. One block later, they turned onto 18th St NW, a block and a half from the Alibi Club. The sixteen secret service agents prepared to jump out and escort the President into the building, surrounded by over sixty of their colleagues.

Rebecca had walked back across to the Starbucks café and was just finishing her coffee as the first black suburban swept past, it’s blue lights flashing and clearing the road ahead. Another quickly followed.

Rebecca had seen motorcades many times before. She lifted her phone and hit the dial button twice. As it connected, she stood up and left Starbucks, not by the 18th St exit but onto H St., not missing a stride as the explosion shook the windows behind her.

The Palestinian Embassy was on the same block as the Alibi Club but around the corner on 18th St NW, rather than on I street.

The Secret Service agent in the third Suburban jumped as the flash of light appeared to his right directly opposite the Presidential Limousine. He knew two things from the location of the flash. It was no accident and they were very lucky. The Beast had hardly flinched as the explosion occurred. The car remained on course and unharmed. All five cars instantly accelerated as the radios broke into life.

“Lead to Cadillac One, is POTUS OK?” POTUS was the acronymic codename for the President Of The United States.

The driver and agent in the Beast, formally referred to as Cadillac One, had seen the flash like the others but had not even felt the smallest wave pressure. So it was with some confidence that they lowered the darkened glass between the President and themselves.

“Lead, Cadillac One is intact, no effects felt. I repeat no effects felt. Will double-check with POTUS.”

“Return to White House.” The lead agent issued the instruction to the motorcade as he awaited confirmation from Cadillac One.

As the screen descended, the agent was faced with a scene of carnage. The President lay on his side, holding his stomach. His chest and body were covered in blood while his assistant’s head lolled back as blood ran from her mouth and down her chin, her white blouse crimson with blood.

“Oh my God! Lead, change of destination, Walter Reed, I repeat Walter Reed and make it quick.”

Sam heard the explosion in his hideout and fought against looking. The explosion was nearby, he knew that much and he also knew it wasn’t large. A diversionary type explosion, he thought. He thought back to all of Rebecca’s goings on throughout the day. She didn’t suddenly have something else that needed to be done, did she? She wouldn’t, he thought. No, she couldn’t have. She couldn’t be implicated in anything to do with an action against the President. As the night air filled with the sound of sirens coming ever closer, Sam knew it was Rebecca’s work. He gave it ten more minutes and rolled to his left. He could see one of the sniper positions clearly from there and unless he was staring straight back, he wouldn’t be seen.

The sniper was nowhere to be seen. Sam rolled to the right, the other sniper was not there either. He rose onto his knee. They were all gone. He ventured a look down at the roof below. Six men had become two. Rebecca, he knew, had diverted the President, saving his life and robbing Sam of an opportunity. She had probably also saved his own life but that wasn’t the point. He didn’t know whether to be impressed or angry. He’d figure it out once he had dealt with the old men.

He looked over the lip of window at the two remaining guards. The Secret Service agents had obviously been pulled out. Not unsurprising in the circumstances. The President wouldn’t be going anywhere near there for a very long time. However, the old men would have based their security requirements on the Secret Service being there. With them gone, there was probably a high probability they would make a break for it themselves. Sam realized he had to hurry.

The two guards below were not like Lawson’s. The beefcakes were gone and had been replaced by real professionals but professional what? They were extremely confident in their abilities but unlike the Secret Service, they were not covering the angles. These guys were not trained defenders, they were attackers thought Sam. And just like in football, each had their own specific purpose. They would look for where they would come from themselves and concentrate their efforts there. The Secret Service never took such chances, they just covered everything.

Sam also noted a lack of intercoms. They really had expected the Secret Service to do their job for them. With the cacophony of sirens from just around the corner, Sam did not have to worry in the least about noise. Even without the silencers he had on his MP5 and Sig, he’d have been fine. He watched for a few minutes as both men wandered aimlessly from front to back of the roof, checking down below and occasionally lifting their eyes skywards towards to the taller rooftops. They really did not expect any company. They were probably moaning about having to babysit some old codgers. He watched as they came together again on their almost constant wandering. He had already perched himself ready, praying they didn’t look up on that occasion. Fortunately they didn’t and Sam dropped the fifteen feet and his 210 lbs onto the men below. The three of them landed in a sprawl, Sam coming off best. He had used the two men to break his fall. One, he was certain had a cracked collarbone, the other he knew had a broken leg. There was no way it would have bent that way otherwise. He almost felt sorry as he cable-tied them both, trying to make them as comfortable as possible. A fresh sock and elephant tape ensured they would also remain fairly quiet, although the guy with the funny leg was making one hell of a racket despite the gag.

Sam entered the loft space via the hatch and checking below, dropped down into the building proper. It was deceptively large and a number of doors led off the passageway. Sam tried a few and found nothing but bedrooms. He needed to go down. He made his way to the end of the corridor and peered over the balcony. Another two men stood below him, chatting inanely about football.

“Get ready to move out!” The shout from below made it clear time was running out.

The men below split. One heading up and one down. One to tell the guys on the roof and the other to prep for leaving.

Sam slipped back towards the loft hatch and noticed a small alcove just to the right of it. He pushed himself back into the space and waited as the guard moved towards him.

As the guard was halfway up the ladders, Sam stepped forward and kicked them away. The guard’s legs desperately searched for some purchase in mid air like some childish cartoon. But gravity always wins and the guard crashed to the floor. It was only when he hit the ground that he realized somebody had deliberately removed the ladder. As he started to look around, Sam’s right fist hit him square in the jaw. 210 lbs of pure energy connected with the very confused guard and almost raised him back into mid air. He crumpled to the ground with little or no fight left. More cable-ties and another fresh sock secured and silenced him.

Three down, at least another two left, thought Sam - the one who shouted up and the guy who went down. Sam walked down to the second floor and quickly ascertained it also was empty. His guys had to be downstairs. Time was running out.

Sam had to make a quick decision. If he wanted these guys, this was his chance and it wouldn’t come again. Sam pulled out the Sig and chambering a round, he walked down the stairs as if he had every right in the world to be there.

The first guard he came across hardly gave him a second glance. Sam swung his pistol and brought it crashing into the side of his head. The guard had stupidly assumed his three colleagues above would have either stopped anyone coming in or warned them of any oncoming threats. The third option, that an intruder might get past them without warning, did not even figure in their range of potential threats. Sam had found, throughout his service, that arrogance about ability was just as dangerous as inability.