Daniel wondered if he could pull it off. He was an analyst, not an action man. To date, everything had gone precisely as he'd planned. Though he hadn't actually sighted the tail. He knew it was there. Furthermore, he knew there would be back-up.

Once inside the museum he headed to the bathroom. There he donned the police uniform, a relic from his distant past. He served three years as a Washington Police Officer prior to transferring to Homeland. Its fit was a little tight. It reemphasised the need for exercise and diet. Comfort wasn't a luxury he could afford. He waited ten minutes in the cubicle. Re-emergence saw his hopes realised. The Museum was swarming with police officers. He was one of many.


Meredith watched the Museum's front door open and the uniform emerge. She smiled. The brief case carrying planner had pulled it off. Not one of the uniforms on front door duty cast a second glance at their 'colleague.'

Without hurry, he walked back along Madison Drive onto 15th Street in the direction of the White House. Elated at his own brilliance, he walked in a world of his own. He would now be able to honour his commitment with Meredith.

About one hundred yards from the Sofitel Hotel an older woman tourist, carrying a heavy camera and loaded with souvenirs brushed passed him. Her words, "Room 708," interrupted his daydreaming. It took him several seconds to realise exactly what she had said. Who the hell was she? Was it a casual remark, or perhaps the offer of a prostitute? Something about her seemed familiar. He watched her walk into the stunning hotel foyer. He followed. She took the stairs; he rode the elevator.

He stood by the stairwell door and waited for the woman's arrival. He paid scant attention to the vagrant exiting from an adjacent elevator. What was such a tramp doing in a five star hotel? Was he about to witness a crime? What should he do? He watched as the woman stopped in front of room 708. She produced a security card and opened the door. Sheer disbelief followed as he recognised the voice. "Do come in, Daniel."

"What the hell is going on, Meredith?"

"I wish to God I knew."

"Come in, don't just stand there, you never know who might be watching." Meredith closed the door behind him.


"Been stood up again, I see," said Tyler as Parnell answered the phone. They had all watched the television coverage of the alleged terrorist scare at the Smithsonian. And they agreed it was no terrorist exercise. There were neither air support, swat teams nor the influx of military in attendance. Its intention was more specific, they were after Meredith Paslow. "You did look good in your flak jacket though, Walter, as you lead your troops into the building. I see you're now describing it as a training exercise. But we both know the truth, don't we, Walter? The lady outsmarted you again. My offer still stands, but not for much longer."

"What do you want?" the man snapped.

"I'll be happy to see the truth, Walter. What does Meredith's slogan say? Only the guilty fear the truth.

"Before this night is over, Walter, we'll teach you the meaning of fear." Both girls looked at Arthur; never before had they heard such venom in his voice.


Walter Parnell sat at his desk, fuming. The day had been a disaster. Many in the media had attacked his press conference. They talked of his arrogance in assuming leadership, the insincerity in his expression of sympathy and his accusatory tone in implying her father may have been alive when she entered the ward but was deceased when she left.

What was he supposed to say? It was fact. She was with her father when he died. And she demanded no autopsy. Then she went into hiding. Each and every action was consistent with the typical reaction of a killer. He'd said no more. Yet he was being criticised. Fuck them!

As for his assumption to leadership, wasn't that the logical step? He was her deputy. And the prospect of waiting months until a Senatorial committee sat and appointed her successor seemed irrational. Again, there had been no impropriety. He'd shown leadership rather than assumed it unjustly. Again he cursed his critics.

What disturbed him most, however, was the betrayal of Daniel Andrews and the subsequent trap he set. Andrews owed his loyalty to the Agency, not to the woman who had killed her father. The man's career was finished. Like the bitch he sided with, he too would go to prison.

One of the unjust burdens of leadership was accepting responsibility for the incompetence of those on the lower rungs of enforcement. Walter cursed them. Why should he bear the blame for their lack of ability? They had allowed Daniel to escape, not him. He wasn't guarding the door.

Now, Calin Roberts had added his name to the list of tormentors. Roberts was a name he knew well. He had read every file. He had protected him in Senatorial and Congressional inquiries when missions went awry. He had argued, against Paslow, for the necessity to maintain the persona and now this was how he was repaid.

Calin Roberts owed him, not Meredith Paslow. And now Roberts was supporting the one who had opposed his very existence. Or was he? Hadn't he offered to 'deliver the dirt on Paslow?' The tone of the second conversation carried a degree of sarcasm. 'Been stood up again? The lady stood you up again.' Was Roberts playing a game? Good guy one minute, bad guy the next. And finally, the hostility in the threat of Arthur Ashe. Two can play that game, vowed Parnell.

He directed the worst of his anger at Meredith Paslow. She had thwarted his ambition so many times. She had taken the Director's job that should have been his. In the eyes of Walter her name, Paslow, rather than her ability had won her the position. She was the daughter of Senator Martin Paslow. And Paslow sat on the appointments panel and died at the hands of the one he had appointed.


His phone rang. It was Delta. The sound of her voice brought a smile to his face, a smile that vanished on hearing the message.

"Calin Roberts just called. Said there's a black Buick illegally parked on the northern side of G St between 10th and 11th someone will meet you there in five minutes. He said you must come alone."

"Be careful, Walter."

He called security. "Get me surveillance on G St between 10th and 11th and I need it now. There is a black Buick, is it occupied and if so by how many? Also advise if there is anyone loitering nearby."

Next, he called for a couple to stroll past on the southern footpath.

Both reports came back negative. What was going on? With less than a minute to the deadline, an agent with a physique similar to Walter approached the vehicle. The Acting Director watched the proceedings through binoculars from his office window. As the substitute attempted to open the driver's front door, two shots rang out. The first hit the man by the Buick door on the right foot. The second penetrated the window six inches from where Walter stood.

A moment later, his phone rang. He answered it. Long before he heard the voice, he knew who was calling.

"Calin."

"If I wanted you dead, you would be." It was Arthur Ashe, the voice clearly identifiable. "My shooting is like my backhand down the line, it always goes exactly where I aim."

People ran from all directions. Paramedics attended to the man on the footpath. There was a deal of blood but he walked unaided to the ambulance.

In his office, Walter sat at his desk, his fear now real. Delta stood by his side, crying. Five colleagues from nearby offices had run to assist. All eyes appeared to be drawn hypnotically towards the hole in the panelled glass window.

Apart from inquires of health, there was little conversation. Walter's raised hands had silenced the group. When he spoke, it wasn't conversation, it was a non-negotiable order.

"Both these incidents are to go unreported, at least for the time being." He saw signs of dissent. "This is an order. I believe these attacks could well be linked to the disappearance of Meredith Paslow and the death of her father. As these are both high priority investigations, I feel any distraction from the major line of inquiry could well jeopardise the entire inquiry.

"If we look at the circumstances here, and we look at them rationally, they are, in my opinion, the work of professional assassins. And these people don't miss. Had I been a genuine target, I'd now be dead. But no, this wasn't an assassination attempt. The prime purpose of this exercise was to extract publicity. And we'll not give them that. So, officially, my friends, this never happened. And if I hear word on the street contrary to this instruction you will all be looking for new jobs.

"Do I make myself clear?" There were nods all round. "Good evening, gentlemen. And have a good night." Turning to one of those present, Walter added. "Get someone to attend to that tonight?" He pointed to the window, and then walked from the room.