117

CHICAGO—5 JUNE

They landed in the Windy City just after 9:30 a.m.

No one was there to greet them. Everyone was too busy making final preparations for the arrival of Air Force One the following day.

By the time they had retrieved their luggage and gear, caught some cabs, and made it downtown through the snarl of traffic, it was nearly noon. Their cabdrivers were not permitted to pass through the checkpoint at the outer edge of the security perimeter around the stadium. So the team had to wait for three Chicago PD patrol cars to drive them to their destination, the Hilton Garden Inn on East Cermak Street. The whole process was an enormous waste of time, pushing the team’s already-frayed nerves to the limit.

Once checked into the hotel, they were able to retrieve the two Jeep Wranglers that the DSS advance man had returned for them from the stadium parking lot to the hotel parking garage. Their first stop was the Joint Security Task Force command post, being run out of the basement of a museum located a block north of the stadium. By the time Marcus arrived, the daily NSC videoconference was already in progress. Dell had just briefed the president on what she’d learned from the Russians. Now Roseboro was briefing him on the early morning raid DSS and FBI agents had conducted at the JW Marriott in the heart of Chicago’s financial district. The presidential suite on the hotel’s twelfth floor was the last location of the Kairos satphone. Unfortunately, no one had been in the suite at the time of the raid, but its last guests had left behind several clues.

While the NEST team on-site found no traces of radioactive materials, Roseboro explained, CCTV footage from the lobby revealed that the man who had checked in was none other than Tariq Youssef. Other CCTV footage of the twelfth floor showed six men entering and exiting the presidential suite at various hours of the past two days and nights. They also found multiple sets of fingerprints in the room, belonging to Youssef as well as two others, possibly two of Badr Hassan al-Ruzami’s sons.

It was a significant breakthrough. For the first time, they had confirmation that at least one of the terror cells was in the city. But the knowledge only increased Marcus’s anxiety. Why was there no evidence of nuclear devices in the hotel or in the garage? Why was the satellite phone now no longer functioning? When had the men checked out? Where were they now? And where was the other Kairos cell?

✭

Marjorie, Maya, and the Garcias had a lovely breakfast at the Four Seasons.

They spent the morning touring the National Museum of Mexican Art. After a light lunch in the food court of the Sears Tower—Marjorie knew it was no longer called that, but to her it would always be the Sears Tower—they bought tickets to the Skydeck and took the elevator to the 103rd floor, their ears popping on the way up. When they got there, Louisa was terrified. So was Maya. But Marjorie loved it. Heights had never bothered her. “I married a fighter pilot, and I live in the Rocky Mountains,” she said.

Getting change for a ten-dollar bill, Marjorie paid for them all to look through the big viewfinders positioned on all four sides of the building. With the weather so beautiful and the skies so clear, she was tickled by the concept of being able to see a good forty or fifty miles in every direction, and into three neighboring states. She also found it fascinating to watch all the security preparations being made at Soldier Field, which she could see clearly through the viewfinder. It made her wonder if Marcus was down there or back in Washington. Either way, she was relieved at how safely and smoothly the pope’s visit to the States was going. Wherever Marcus was, she was sure he was playing a critical role.

While Louisa and Maya perused the gift shop in the center of the open and spacious floor plan, determined to stay away from the massive plate-glass windows, Marjorie and Javier got in line behind a group of squealing teenage girls and stepped into “the Ledge,” one of several large glass boxes that jutted out from the side of the tower. That might have been a bit too much. Even Marjorie was scared to look straight down—1,353 feet—to the streets and tiny people below.

She stayed in the box for less than a minute before asking Javier to help her step out. But she was proud of herself for having done it. She had read that several years earlier the glass bottom of the box had cracked. It had been repaired, of course, and there had probably never been any real danger. Nevertheless, Marjorie could not think of a more terrible way to die than plunging a quarter of a mile out of the sky only to—

She shuddered, not daring to finish the thought.

She and Javier soon joined the others in the gift shop. Marjorie bought some T-shirts and other knickknacks for her grandkids and a book about the building of the tower for herself. Finally she bought several postcards, including one for Marcus. If her son was too busy to answer her calls, perhaps he would at least read his mail and learn that his mother was living her life and not sitting around waiting for him to pick up the phone.