a threat

Number One Observatory Circle was in chaos. A small army of black-suited men raced about, hand-to-ear, trying to hear the rapid-fire updates coming through their earpieces. They barked orders or gathered grim faced in groups of two or three in the foyer, murmuring in low tones about the necessary next steps. Lights blazed throughout the house, mocking the hour displayed on the nearby atomically synchronized clock: 3:32 a.m.