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VIRGINIA BEACH, VIRGINIA

Paige spent all day Friday trying to get a grip on her emotions. She called her mother, but the conversation was awkward and stilted. The two women had grown far apart over the years, and a boyfriend’s death wasn’t going to fix it.

Her friends brought food and drink and sat with Paige in her dark condo. She had the shades pulled and the overhead lights off, lamps throwing shadows across her living room. It was a cloudy day, but Paige wasn’t about to let one of the few rays of sunlight break through the windows.

Mostly she just wanted to be alone. Finally, late in the afternoon, she said it to them bluntly. She couched it in apologies, of course, because she didn’t want to hurt her friends’ feelings. After they left and quietness descended, she immediately regretted sending them away.

Between crying spells and rereading Patrick’s old text messages and after prayers that brought more questions than comfort, Paige sat on the couch and surfed through the news channels. The talking heads rehashed the same story from the night before, over and over, wondering when the president might speak again and address the mess she had created in the Middle East. There were unconfirmed rumors that she had fired the commanding officer of JSOC, an outspoken former SEAL named Paul Towers. The networks ran old footage of the admiral, a thin and determined-looking man wearing khakis, strolling among the troops. The blame for the botched mission was apparently being laid at his feet.

Some of the commentators didn’t think that was fair. John Marcano, the bookish head of the CIA, did not have a lot of media fans. Sources close to the situation were reporting that he was in the hot seat as well. Faulty CIA intelligence had cost the lives of twenty good men.

All of it was just noise to Paige, making her angrier and more frustrated by the minute. The president and her cabinet had already shifted into blame mode, and none of it was going to bring Patrick back.

It was almost midnight when the breaking news scrolled across the bottom of her screen. U.S. Special Forces had conducted another nighttime raid and had successfully retrieved the bodies of the dead SEALs. This time, the U.S. had used overwhelming force. There were no reported casualties for the Americans and more than two hundred Houthi rebels confirmed dead. The president would be holding a press conference at nine on Easter morning.

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Philip Kilpatrick stood to the side of the stage, his arms crossed in satisfaction, watching the press conference unfold. This was President Amanda Hamilton at her best. She confirmed reports from Friday night that the bodies of the SEALs had been recovered. The mission had involved air attacks followed by a Special Forces team of more than 120 SEALs and Delta Force members inserted at various positions around Sana’a Central Prison. The American forces, supported by targeted drone strikes, had converged on the prison yard and retrieved the bodies of their fallen brothers.

Hamilton stood to her full five feet ten inches, her jaw jutting forward, eyes blazing. Many criminal defense lawyers had tested this woman’s mettle and regretted doing so. And now, representing the greatest country in the world, President Hamilton was warning the Houthi rebels not to do the same.

“The United States is a peaceful nation,” she said brusquely. “But when one of our citizens is arrested and condemned without a trial, we will act. When the bodies of our soldiers are desecrated, we will act. And when our allies are threatened, we will act.”

She paused, her lips pursed. It was great theater, and the press was lapping it up. “It is no secret that the Houthi government in Yemen receives material support from Tehran. I am warning both the Houthi leaders and the Supreme Leader of Iran that if Cameron Holloman is not released unharmed, we will consider his execution a hostile act of war by enemy nations.”

She gripped the sides of the podium and looked around the room. This was vintage Amanda Hamilton, and Kilpatrick could feel the momentum beginning to swing.

“In Yemen, we will increase our support for the legitimate coalition government, backed by the Saudis, including an increase in air strikes against the Houthis. And with regard to Iran, we will treat this hostile act as a violation of the treaty negotiated by the Obama administration, and I will personally request that our allies join us in a renewal of sanctions against a rogue country.”

This caused a murmur and a flurry of scribbling among the reporters. They scooted forward in their chairs, waiting for a chance to ask questions.

The president looked down and softened her voice. “Next Friday we are planning a joint memorial service at Arlington National Cemetery for the service members who died in Yemen. On this day, when so many Americans are celebrating the promise of eternal life, I would ask you to take a moment and remember the families of our fallen heroes in your prayers.”

As soon as the president stopped speaking, before she could draw a breath, the questions started flying. She handled them all beautifully. She confirmed that Admiral Paul Towers had been relieved of his command before the Friday-night raid. She refused to provide details about why the first mission had failed—“There will be time for that after a full investigation.” She stoked the fires of resentment against Iran for supporting not just the Houthis but Hezbollah and Hamas and Islamic Jihad.

All in all, Philip Kilpatrick could hardly keep himself from smiling. It was a somber affair, and he was not unmindful of the lives that had been lost. But deep in his bones, he loved politics most of all. And as he stood there watching this amazing spectacle, he realized that this was one of the reasons why. Fame and popularity were fickle and fleeting. The reversal of fortune that he was watching with his own eyes—no, that he had in fact orchestrated with his own hands—was devastatingly sudden.

By day’s end, if the Houthis followed through on their threats, President Hamilton would have the political capital to renew sanctions on Iran, effectively isolating the country and further stalling its development of nuclear weapons. In the process, she would strengthen ties with Saudi Arabia and other more moderate Islamic countries. And eventually, if the pieces all fell into place the way Kilpatrick envisioned they would, President Amanda Hamilton would be in a position to actually achieve what every other president since Jimmy Carter had attempted and failed. She could broker peace talks between America’s Muslim allies and the nation of Israel. And in the process, she could unite moderate Muslims and cripple the radical networks intent on jihad.

The press conference ended at 10:05 a.m. The Houthis waited two hours, until just before sunset in Sana’a, to respond. Their video went viral as soon as it hit the Internet. Cameron Holloman and Abdullah Fahd bin Abdulaziz were executed by hanging. The crowd cheered and began chanting in unison. It was Arabic, but in America, the words were displayed in block letters for the entire country to see:

“Death to America! Death to Saudi Arabia!”