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PROLOGUE: STARTING HERE
IT HAD TO BE THE SHOCK of the moment, Ryan thought. He
seemed to be two people at the same time. One part of him
looked out the window of the lunchroom of CNN’s Washington
bureau and saw the fires that grew from the remains of the
Capitol building–yel ow points springing up from an orange
glow like some sort of ghastly floral arrangement, representing
over a thousand lives that had been snuffed out not an hour
earlier. Numbness suppressed grief for the moment, though he
knew that would come, too, as pain always fol owed a hard blow
to the face, but not right away. Once more, Death in al its horrid
majesty had reached out for him. He’d seen it come, and stop,
and withdraw, and the best thing to be said about it was that his
children didn’t know how close their young lives had come to an
early conclusion. To them, it had simply been an accident they
didn’t understand. They were with their mother now, and they’d
feel safe in her company while their father was away
somewhere. It was a situation to which both they and he long
since had unhappily become accustomed. And so John Patrick
Ryan looked at the residue of Death, and one part of him as yet
The other part of him looked at the same sight and knew that he
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