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"I'm not so sure anyone's going anywhere," Herbert said "Not unless they know some shortcuts by heart. Israeli satellite recon shows fighting on all sides. Looks like about forty or fifty plainclothes attackers in the process of breaching the wall. Syrian Army regulars just showed up to defend the palace. Ten whole men."

"That's what they get for sending their troops north," Martha said. "What's it all mean?"

"Some of my people think it's a Turkish assault with Israeli support," Herbert said. "The Iranians are saying we're behind it. Larry Rachlin's wanted to take the President down for a long time because of Syria's involvement with terrorists. But he swears that CIA undercovers aren't at part of this."

"What do you think?" Martha asked as she knocked on Hardaway's door. It clicked open. She hesitated before opening it.

"I'm putting my money on the Kurds," Herbert said.

"Why?"

"Because they're the only ones who have anything to gain from all of this," he said. "Also, process of elimination. My Israeli and Turkish contacts seem as genuinely surprised by what's happening as we are."

Martha nodded as the two of them went inside.

Skinny, bearded Curtis Sean Hardaway was behind his desk looking at his computer. His eyes were circled with dark rings, and the trash can was filled with chewing-gum wrappers. Mike Rodgers's backup, natty young Lieutenant General William Abram, was seated in a wing chair. His laptop was open on his knees. His thick black eyebrows came together above his nose, and his eyes were alert beneath them. His thin-lipped mouth was relaxed between two ruddy cheeks.

Soft crackling and occasional pops came from the speaker phone on Hardaway's desk.

Hardaway snapped his gum and looked over. "Good morning, Martha. Bob, I haven't heard a word from Warner since you turned him over to me."

"Just gunfire," Abram said in a low monotone, "and static from military communications."

"So we don't know if Paul found the DSA operatives," Martha asked.

"We do not," said Hardaway. "The President wants extraction options by seven-fifteen, and frankly there aren't many. We've got the Marine guards at the embassy, but they've got no jurisdiction outside the embassy--"

"Though they can always extricate first and answer questions later," said Abram.

"True," said Hardaway. "We've also got a Delta Team at Incirlik. They can be scrambled and on the palace roof in forty minutes."

"Which creates problems if the Turks are behind this," Abram said, "because we'll be shooting at allies."

"To save our ambassador," Martha said.

"Not if he isn't a target," Abram pointed out. "So far, we have no indication that he or any of the other ambassadors are in any danger."

Hardaway glanced at his watch. "There's one other option, which is to recall Striker and get them into Damascus. We've spoken with Tel Nef. They can get the team back and choppered to the palace within thirty minutes."

"No!" Herbert said emphatically.

"Hold on, Bob," Martha said. "Aideen already cleared it with the Congressional Intelligence Oversight Committee to have them go to the Middle East. Of the three groups, they're the only ones with any kind of authority."

"Absolutely not," Herbert replied. "We need them to get our people out of the Bekaa."

Martha looked at him. "Don't give me 'absolutely nots,' Bob," she said. "Not with Paul and our ambassador in the line of fire-"

"We don't know if they're in immediate danger," Herbert replied.

"Immediate danger?" Martha yelled. "Robert, the palace is under attack!"

"And the ROC and its crew are in the hands of terrorists!" Herbert yelled back. "That danger is real and Striker's within shouting range of it. Let them finish the mission they were sent to accomplish. Christ, they may not even have floor plans of the palace. You can't send them in blind."

"Armed and equipped they're hardly blind," Martha said.

"But they've studied the Bekaa," Herbert said. "They prepared for this mission. Look, you've got Warner on the line. Wait