A throat being cleared.

Ice crackling in a glass.

Tapping of fingers.

Madness. The thought seemed to echo in the room.

The most fearsome urban terrorism had finally struck deep inside the United States, right at the heart of America 's economic power.

There were anxious, repeated glances at the glinting faces of Rolex, Cartier, and Piaget wristwatches.

What did Green Band want?

What was the outrageous ransom for Wall Street to be?

Edward Palin, the seventy-seven-year-old chief executive of one of the largest investment firms, slowly backed away from the darkly reflective picture windows. He sat down on a Harvard chair pulled up beside one of the dining tables and, in a poignant gesture, put his head between his gray pinstriped knees. He felt faint; it was too embarrassing to watch. Were they about to lose everything now?

Twenty seconds left.

“Please call. Call, you bastards,” the vice president muttered.

It seemed like thousands of emergency sirens were screaming, a peculiar high-low wail, all over New York City. It was the first time the emergency warning system had been seriously in use since 1963 and the nuclear war scares.

Finally it was five minutes past five.

The sudden, terrifying realization struck every person in the room-they weren't going to call again!

They weren't going to negotiate at all.

Without any further warning, Green Band was going to strike.

Washington, D.C.

“A fast recap for you,” said Lisa Pelham, the president's chief of staff, an efficient, well-organized woman who'd been trained at Harvard and spoke in the clipped manner of one whose mind was used to making succinct outlines from mountains of information.