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  Now Bennett prayed for a quiet, peaceful life, off the political bullet train and far from harm’s way. He was exhausted. So was McCoy. They had given nearly everything they had trying to protect their country and bring peace to a troubled world, and now they desperately wanted a honeymoon that would never end.

  A quartet of violins began to play Mendelssohn’s Wedding March. His pastor popped his head in the side door and whispered, “It’s time.”

  Bennett nodded and closed his eyes for a moment. He took a deep breath, and told himself to relax. He had nothing to worry about. Not anymore. Erin loved him as he’d never imagined someone could. She was as eager to marry him as he was to marry her. This was the first day of the rest of their lives, and it was going to be better than they had ever hoped for, dreamed of, or imagined. What more could he ask for than this?

  3

  SATURDAY, JANUARY 10 – 1:02 p.m. – WINCHESTER, VIRGINIA

  The doors opened with a rush and everyone stood.

  Erin McCoy felt every eye upon her, and for a moment she wished she and Jon had just eloped. She was so grateful for all the family and friends who had come out for the ceremony. She needed their support and she appreciated it. But for months she and Jon had been in the glare of the public eye, and it was beginning to wear thin.

  Their escape from Russia had been big news. Upon their return, they had been invited to the White House to meet with the president and First Lady. Together they had held a press conference to announce massive U.S. humanitarian aid and logistical support to all affected countries. They had been interviewed on every major news show in the U.S. and Europe and had even appeared on Al-Jazeera. Newsweek had put them on its cover. So had People and The Economist and numerous Asian and Latin-American newsmagazines.

  At times Bennett and McCoy wondered if they should have just said no right from the beginning. They didn’t want the spotlight. They didn’t want fame and publicity. They didn’t need the perks those came with, and they certainly didn’t need the headaches. But it was true they had a compelling story to tell. They had a unique perspective on the horrifying events through which the world was suffering, as well as a powerful message of hope to share with millions without hope. It would have been wrong to keep silent.

  But now McCoy desperately craved some privacy. It was why she had asked the president and First Lady and their daughters not to attend today’s wedding. Not because she didn’t love them. She did. Not because of tensions over the president’s refusal to come to Israel’s aid prior to the firestorm, though that’s what the tabloids were reporting. The reason was simply this: welcoming the First Family to their wedding meant welcoming the entire White House press corps, and at the moment Erin couldn’t think of anything worse.

  Still, it pained her not to have the MacPhersons there. After the death of her father in Afghanistan in the eighties and the loss of her mother to ovarian cancer in the early nineties, the MacPhersons had practically become her adopted family. They had helped her through school, given her a place to stay, and supported her when she joined the CIA as her father had so many years before. They had even been responsible for introducing her to Jon in the first place.

  McCoy had imagined the president walking her down the aisle one day and the girls serving as bridesmaids. She had cried herself to sleep the night before calling Julie MacPherson and asking her not to come. It had been the most difficult phone call she had ever made, but as best as she could see it, she didn’t have a choice.

  Fortunately, though the First Lady had sounded hurt, she and the president had been very gracious. They would give Erin and Jon the space they needed, and they would ask the media to do the same. They just asked that the Bennetts join them for a weekend at Camp David sometime after the honeymoon so they could properly congratulate them and try to heal the fresh wounds. McCoy had eagerly accepted, without even asking Bennett. He knew how important this relationship was to her, and just as she had hoped, he had backed her fully when she told him, his own strained relationship with the president notwithstanding.

  And now here she was, walking down the aisle. With a single red rose in her hand and Dr. Mordechai at her side, McCoy tried hard to keep step with the music and keep from crying before the man she so loved and admired. She didn’t want Bennett to think of her as weak or sentimental. She wanted to be a rock for him, like her mother had been for her dad. But then her eyes locked onto his. She saw them filling with tears. She saw his lip beginning to quiver. She could see him straining to hold it all back, and every fear she’d had that maybe this was all a little girl’s fairy tale melted away.

  Jon Bennett really did love her. This really was happening.

  But why? How was it possible that God was being so good to her? Almost everyone she had ever loved had died terrible, premature deaths, and she couldn’t help but fear Jon would be next. How could she love someone she barely expected to last in her life? And yet, how could she not? God in His graciousness had given her the gift she had always wanted. She’d done nothing to deserve it. She could do nothing to hold on to it. She would just have to trust—to “HALO jump,” as Bennett liked to put it—and enjoy every day the Lord in His infinite love and mercy chose to give her.

  It wouldn’t be easy, but what in her life ever had been?

  * * *

  Erin was suddenly at his side.

  She took his hand, and the pastor began to speak.

  “Welcome, all of you, in the name of our Savior and Lord Jesus Christ, who loved us and gave Himself for us. I cannot tell you how much I’ve looked forward to this moment, though I suspect that my anticipation pales to that of the two lovesick children who stand before us.”

  A chuckle rippled through the room.

  “Let us, therefore, not put off the purpose for which we have gathered: to witness and to celebrate the sacred union of these two dear friends in the bonds of holy matrimony. Two friends whose love and faith have literally been tested by fire. Two friends who have come to exemplify the words of our precious Savior, when He said, ‘Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends.’”

  Bennett had no doubt that whatever the pastor said next was what Mordechai called “VOSA,” the voice of sound advice. But he heard none of it. Not the admonition to love Erin as Christ loved His church. Not the humorous anecdotes of the pastor’s first married mistakes. Not the gentle but clear call to faith. It was all a dreamy fog, until these words snapped him back into reality.

  “Jonathan Meyers Bennett, in the sight of God and man, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife—to have and to hold, for richer or for poorer, in good times and bad, in sickness and in health, from this day forward, for as long as you both shall live?”

  Bennett felt the lump form in his throat and a tingling sensation in his fingers. As he watched the tears streaming down Erin’s face, he managed a firm, “I do.”

  And then it was her turn.

  “Erin Christina McCoy, in the sight of God and man, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband—to have and to hold, for richer or for poorer, in good times and bad, in sickness and in health, from this day forward, for as long as you both shall live?”

  Bennett’s heart skipped a beat until he heard those precious, wonderful words—“I do”—emerge in that ever-so-slight North Carolinian accent. And then he could breathe again.

  “Do you each bring a token of your love and affection for one another?”

  “We do,” they said together.

  “Then, Jonathan, please repeat after me,” said the pastor. “With this ring . . . ”

  “With this ring . . . ”

  “. . . I thee wed.”

  “. . . I thee wed.”

  Bennett slipped a simple gold band beside the diamond engagement ring he’d given her on the tenth-floor outdoor restaurant of the Ararat Park Hyatt Hotel, overlooking Red Square and the Kremlin, almost six months before.

  “Now, Erin, please repeat after me. W
ith this ring . . . ”

  “With this ring . . . ”

  “. . . I thee wed.”

  “. . . I thee wed.”

  With that she slipped a thick, 14-carat-gold wedding ring on Jon’s left ring finger, squeezed his hands gently, and stared into his watering eyes.

  “Very well,” said the pastor, with an air of finality. “Then by the authority vested in me by the Commonwealth of Virginia—and far more importantly, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit—I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

  The room erupted with applause.

  “Jonathan, you may kiss your bride.”

  It had been a long time coming, and he took his time. He kissed Erin for what seemed an eternity. Someone’s pager began to go off, then another, and a third.

  In that fraction of a second Bennett knew instinctively that another nightmare was beginning to unfold.

  4

  SATURDAY, JANUARY 10 – 1:27 p.m. – WINCHESTER, VIRGINIA

  Bob Corsetti was the first to bolt.

  The White House chief of staff and his Secret Service detail quickly slipped out of the last pew, jumped in a waiting sedan, and sped off, presumably back to the Situation Room.

  Ken Costello was right behind him. No longer undersecretary of state for political affairs, Costello, an old friend, now had Bennett’s old job—and his old office—serving as senior advisor to the president and coordinating all U.S. emergency assistance and humanitarian aid to the countries affected by the devastation.

  When Indira Rajiv left too, Bennett knew this one was bad. Rajiv was Erin’s closet friend at the CIA. Erin had recruited her, trained her, and recommended her numerous promotions. Now, as director of the NAMESTAN desk, Rajiv was responsible for tracking all terrorist groups operating in and out of North Africa, the Middle East, and the “stans” of Central Asia. The only reason she’d be leaving Erin’s wedding so abruptly would be if terrorists had struck again.

  As the receiving line began, Dr. Mordechai pulled Jon and Erin aside.

  “There’s been an attack near the White House,” he explained.

  Erin gasped. “Where?”

  “The Willard,” said Mordechai. “It seems to have been a truck bomb or a suicide bomber. There are conflicting reports. But casualties are mounting, and my sources say the Secret Service is concerned about additional attacks. The police are sealing off the city. The airports are shut down.”

  “What about the president?” asked Bennett.

  “He’s safe,” Mordechai assured them. “But it was a close call. He was at the JW Marriott at the time, giving a speech. But they’ve got him back at the White House now. The VP is safe as well. They’ve airlifted him to Camp David. Lee James is going to hold a press conference soon. That’s all I’ve got for now.”

  Bennett asked him to make an announcement to let everyone know what was happening. In the meantime, he pulled Erin into the coatroom for a moment to gather their thoughts. All that remained was a private, secluded, candlelit meal with family members and close friends before they would finally have some time for themselves. But he could see the tension in Erin’s eyes.

  “You okay?” Bennett asked when they were alone.

  “We need to do something,” she replied. “I need to do something.”

  “I know,” said Bennett as he took her hands in his and looked her in the eye. His new bride wasn’t wired to sit back and watch events happen. She’d been trained to take action, and Bennett was certain every instinct in her body told her to race back to Langley and see if there was anything she could do to help. And he had no doubt they’d take her back in a heartbeat, even if it was her wedding day. “But it’s not up to us anymore. We did our jobs. Now we need to let everyone else do theirs.”

  He could see the struggle in her soul as she tried to figure out their next move.

  “We should at least call off the dinner,” she said at last. “It’s not a time to celebrate.”

  “Well, no,” he said gently, “but we can’t just send people home. Half of them are from out of town, some from out of the country. D.C. is shut down. They won’t be able to get back to their hotels for a while.”

  “So what are you saying?” asked Erin, her eyes searching his for guidance.

  “I’m saying we go forward. We have the dinner. We make it low-key, but we let people just be together, until it becomes clear what’s going to happen next.”

  Twenty minutes later they pulled into The Inn at Little Washington, where Erin wiped the tears from her eyes, fixed her mascara, and tried to pull herself together. They had been listening to special coverage of the unfolding crisis during the drive over from the church. The more they learned, the more clear it became to them both that a new threat had just been unleashed. But for now they had guests waiting for them, and neither of them wanted to look gloomy on a day like today.

  * * *

  The newlyweds entered to an ovation they did not expect.

  It was heartfelt and emotional, and Erin suddenly realized how much this small group of friends and family wanted to be together—and especially with them—at this moment of crisis.

  Greeting them first with an enormous bear hug was Dmitri Galishnikov, founder and CEO of the Medexco oil empire and now number three on the Forbes list of the world’s richest people. His beautiful wife, Katya, showered them with kisses. At their side was the widow of Ibrahim Sa’id, the assassinated prime minister of the Palestinian Authority, along with her sons, embracing the newlyweds with a warmth and a tenderness that came from deep in their hearts.

  “You both have done so much for us all,” Dmitri said in his thick, raspy Russian accent. “And we love you for it.”

  Erin felt herself choke up as she thanked them for coming so far to be with them. They had been through so much joy and sorrow together, and it felt good to have them there. She turned and winked at Jon, proud of his instincts and grateful to be his wife.

  Nadia Mehrvash came up and gave Erin a hug and a kiss on both cheeks. Erin couldn’t believe it was really her. She had asked Mordechai to track Nadia down and invite her to come. She and Jon had even offered to pay her way. But she had never heard if Nadia was really going to make it. And yet here she was, all the way from Iran, and Erin held her close.

  Nadia was still in mourning, of course, for her husband, Hamid, who had died helping Jon sneak into Russia to rescue Erin. She was in mourning too for the baby she had miscarried in an Iranian prison camp just before the firestorm had set her free. But she was a woman of remarkable faith and resilience, and Erin was so happy to see her.

  “I’m so sorry,” Erin whispered, “for all you’ve been through.”

  “It is an honor to suffer for His name,” Nadia whispered back. “I’m just sorry Hamid didn’t get the chance to meet you.”

  “We will see him soon enough,” Erin replied, and the two hugged again.

  * * *

  Just after dinner, Eli Mordechai cleared his throat.

  The graying, bespectacled, eighty-four-year-old former Mossad chief—who vaguely resembled Anthony Hopkins but sounded more like Sean Connery playing Marko Ramius in The Hunt for Red October—had news, and it was not good.

  “Please forgive me for being the bearer of bad tidings amid this beautiful gathering,” Mordechai began, “but I thought you might want an update.”

  Everyone nodded, including Jon and Erin, so Mordechai continued.

  “Secretary James just finished his press conference. He confirmed that the explosion at the Willard was the result of a suicide bomber using conventional explosives. There are no traces of any nuclear or radioactive device. But the casualties are severe.”

  “How many?” asked Erin.

  Mordechai paused, as if delaying the news would make it easier to bear. “Twenty-three people are dead. Forty-seven more are wounded.”

  A gasp swept through the room.

  “Eleven are listed in critical condition at area hospitals. Several of them are not
expected to make it through the night.”

  “Any suspects yet?” Erin asked.

  Bennett noticed she was already scribbling a short list of her own on the back of a wedding program. He didn’t recognize any of the names. But none of them were of Middle Eastern or Russian origins. True, Al-Qaeda was dead and buried, as were Hamas, Hezbollah, and Islamic Jihad. And Yuri Gogolov and Mohammed Jibril and their Al-Nakbah terror network were now history too. But who did that leave?

  “The secretary said it was too early for hard leads,” said Mordechai.

  “You’re saying they’ve got nothing?” asked Erin.

  “I’m saying what they have isn’t public yet.”

  Bennett looked around the room. It was obvious no one wanted to talk about anything else. Their city—their nation’s capital—had been attacked. Again. It made no sense for Mordechai to hold back what little he knew at this early stage of the investigation unless it was actually classified.

  Mordechai apparently drew the same conclusion.

  “I can only say a little,” said the old man. “Again, none of it is public yet, but I can tell you the FBI has already identified the bomber. They know who he is. They know where he’s from. And they are hunting down every lead to find out who else he might have been working with. The odd thing is that he wasn’t from the Middle East.”

  “Where was he from?” asked Bennett.

  “Italy.”

  Italy? Bennett looked at his new bride, not quite sure what to say. He had never heard of an Italian suicide bomber. Neither, apparently, had she. The room quickly filled with cross talk as people developed theories and tried to make sense of it all.

  “What do you make of it all at this point, Dr. Mordechai?” Ruth Bennett suddenly asked over the cacophony. “I thought ‘The Ezekiel Option’ was the end of all this.”

  “I wish it were,” he said. “But I’m afraid Ezekiel never prophesied the end of evil, only the end of radical Islam as we’ve known it.”