CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
1:20 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time
Headquarters of the Special Response Team
McLean, Virginia
“I might know where the president is.”
Luke spoke before Don Morris had even started the meeting. The three of them, Luke, Trudy, and Swann, had all filed in just a minute before, and had taken seats facing Don’s desk like a group of unruly students in the principal’s office.
Steel-eyed, salt and pepper Don, looking both impeccable and formidable in a tight-fitting white dress shirt, sat back in his leather office chair. He half-smiled and shook his head. He made a grunting sound that was almost, but not quite, a laugh. It was more like an exhalation of air that a hydraulic system might make. Luke translated its meaning easily. He was fluent in Don Morris by now:
It figures
