HE VAN BEURENS lived about twenty minutes from the hospice center.

Robie made it there in fifteen.

The homes were solidly middle-class. Basketball hoops. Vans and American-made cars in short asphalt driveways. Do-it-yourself landscaping. Not a butler or Rolls-Royce in sight.

Robie zeroed in on the Van Beurens’ house. It was set at the end of the street. The home was dark, but one vehicle was parked in the driveway.

Robie stopped his car at the curb, pulled out his pistol, and crept toward the house. He didn’t knock at the front door. He peered in one of the windows. He couldn’t see anything.

He hurried around to the back. Putting his elbow through the glass in the back door, he reached through and turned the lock. He pulled a flashlight and made his way through the house. It didn’t take him long. He ended up in the front room after clearing the others.

He shined his light around. It hit on various objects on walls and shelves. He passed one item and then came back to it. He rushed over and snatched it up.

It was a photo of the Van Beurens.

Mother, daughter, and father.

Mom was in her combat fatigues.

Robie’s gaze focused on Dad.

George Van Beuren was also in uniform, a very distinctive one. White shirt, dark pants. Dark cap.

It was the uniform of the United States Secret Service Uniformed Division.

George Van Beuren helped to guard the president of the United States.

And then in a flash of synapses Robie finally made the connection.

He was watching Annie Lambert walking down the hall. He had lost her for about thirty seconds. But then regained her. She had changed clothes in those few seconds.

And then Robie forgot all about Annie Lambert and took his mind back to that airplane hangar in Morocco. Through his scope he had watched Khalid bin Talal climb the steps to his jet. After that he had lost sight of the prince for a brief period. And then he had regained him as the Saudi walked down the aisle of the plane and took his seat across from the Russian and Palestinian.

That’s when Robie had noticed the straps around the prince’s middle. He had assumed it was the straps holding on his body armor. But the prince had not been wearing body armor before he got on the plane. Robie had been watching him closely. He would have seen the outline of the armored vest under the robes. And it took longer than a few moments to put on, especially if one was wearing a long robe and was very heavy in the belly.

What had happened was now clear.

Talal had been warned about a possible hit. He’d had someone, perhaps a double he routinely employed, take his place at the meeting. Maybe he thought the Russian and Palestinian would try to kill him. Maybe he suspected a traitor in his inner circle, or a sniper like Robie waiting to take his shot. He had outsmarted them all. He had had his double die in his place.

Robie thought back to the conversation he had overheard that night. It now took on a critical importance.

Something that everyone assumed was pointless to try.

The weakest link.

Willing to die.

That could only be one possible target.

The president of the United States.

Now the theft of the Secret Service SUV made sense. They had someone on the inside. They had George Van Beuren.

And the fact that they had let Elizabeth Van Beuren die told Robie that the time to make the attempt was right now.

And Talal’s billions had bought him people in this country to do his bidding.

Then he remembered something Annie Lambert had told him. When the president got back to D.C., there was going to be a big event at the White House.

He pulled out his phone, did a quick Internet search.

He got the results and raced out of the house.

Tonight the president would be entertaining the crown prince of Saudi Arabia.

Talal was multitasking tonight.

The son of a bitch was going for both men.