Edge of Apocalypse by Tim Lahaye, Craig Parshall

a powerful veteran of Washington politics. He was seated in the middle of the dais in a high-backed chair that set him apart from the others. A large, imposing man, with a shiny bald head and thick, tangled eyebrows, he took a minute to survey the room, peeking out over the reading glasses perched at the end of his nose.
    "Ladies and gentlemen," the senator began, "this will be a closed and confidential session of this special committee...created to investigate what I consider to be one of the most shocking and disturbing national security events in the history of this great nation,"
    Senator Straworth took a long pause before he continued. "Now we are all painfully aware that this committee has issued letter requests for various documents pertinent to this investigation. Letter requests sent to Mr. Joshua Jordan, a private weapons contractor, as well as to his counsel. To date, Mr. Jordan has refused to produce a single document. I note that Mr. Jordan is present in this hearing room, along with his counsel, Mr. Harry Smythe."
    Senator Straworth slowly turned his gaze to Joshua. "This committee," he announced with a booming voice, "calls as its first witness Mr. Joshua Jordan."
    Joshua stood up from the table and raised his right hand. He then took the oath and swore to tell the truth under the federal penalties of perjury. "...So help me God."
    Then he sat down.
    Joshua was not a religious man, not in the way Abigail was. But just then, as he looked out over the congressional panel assembled in front of him, knowing as he did, the political and legal quicksand that lay all around him, he was happy about one thing: he knew Abigail was praying for him.

ELEVEN
    Senator Straworth was anxious to rip into Joshua Jordan. The North Korean nuke incident and Jordan's RTS antimissile system had spawned a growing media storm. There were allegations that the experimental system was too risky to have been tried and that the missiles could have been disarmed by conventional means that were already at the Pentagon's disposal. Several major media outlets were beginning to call the incident "lasergate," and the blogosphere was spinning out of control with an avalanche of conspiracy theories.
    In the midst of this media firefight, Senator Straworth had maintained a public face of disturbed concern mixed with strained neutrality. After all, it was an undeniable political reality that the City of New York and its residents had been saved.
    But those who knew the senator understood that beneath his cautiously managed exterior was an attack dog straining at its leash. In the congressional cloakrooms he had made his position clear. The North Korean incident had been mishandled by the Pentagon. White House policy and usual Pentagon procedures had been, in his view, arrogantly disregarded. Not to mention the question of whether the military's choice of antimissile response, lobbing the two nukes back where they had come from, had actually violated international antimissile defense treaties. Because Straworth had personally championed those treaties in the Senate, the use of Joshua's RTS weapons technology was viewed by the senator as a political knife in his own back.
    But Straworth had to follow senatorial protocol first. After that, he could start his well-honed political grandstanding.
    Straworth smiled, turning to the man seated next to him. "First order of business, the chair will recognize the honorable senator from Wyoming. Now, I understand, Senator Hewbright, that you have some other business you must attend to in another committee you chair. So, Senator, as ranking member, I'll yield, and you may proceed first today."
    "Thank you, Mr. Chairman." Senator Hewbright, a square-faced man with his dark hair cut short, almost military-short, turned to face the witness, Joshua Jordan. "Colonel Jordan, let me say, sir, that I consider you a true American hero. I know your stellar military record as an Air Force pilot. I'm aware of the great risks