Page 114 of Cross Down
“No, they’re too smart for that,” I say. “Preventive detention for their own safety, of course. There are other lists of members of the news media who will be placed in preventive detention or who will have military escorts at work. Oh, and lists of those to be arrested.”
Ned’s voice is strained. “How many?”
“Thousands, not including the terror cells. That’s an entirely different file, people from nearly every state in the union and organizations from right-wing militias to Black Lives Matter–type groups to environmentalists.”
“Who else will be arrested?”
“Too many to point out, Ned,” I say. “But I’m on the list, and so is Alex Cross, and so are members of his family.”
Ned shakes his head. “It’s like a nightmare. Impossible to believe.”
I say, “Well, believe this, Ned. Most of the FBI’s management is on that list. Including you.”
Chapter
139
Sylvester is maneuveringthe two-axle Mack integrated tow truck along the crowded streets of the District of Columbia as his passenger, Casey, calls out directions from a handwritten sheet of paper. Crude, but sheets of paper can’t be hacked or traced.
“Okay,” Casey says. “Turn left at the next light.”
Sylvester says, “If this traffic doesn’t clear up in ten minutes, we’re not going to meet our deadline.”
“I told you we should have left an hour earlier.”
“And get to the target an hour ahead of time, drive around in circles, and get asked by the Metro Police or Secret Service why we’re hanging out near the White House?”
“We could have parked somewhere.”
“And get ticketed or rousted?”
The light turns red. Sylvester stops, swears.
Casey says, “In the next couple of minutes, we’re gonna need a miracle.”
Chapter
140
Casey’s miracle occursfifty-eight seconds later.
It starts with a phone call from a U.S. Army colonel at the Pentagon to the chief of the DC Metro Police on his office’s private line.
In a crisp and clear voice, the colonel says, “Chief, please retrieve a hard copy of your external operational plan manual. Let me know when you have it in hand.”
The chief nearly chokes on his late-morning latte and spends a few frantic moments looking for the thin volume, which he finds stuck between two old budget binders on an upper shelf in his office. He tugs out the dusty book, recalling the first time he read it and how it had chilled him. It contains the Metro Police’s procedures for responding to a variety of apocalyptic events, from a chemical attack to nuclear war.
“I…I’ve got it, Colonel.”
“Open it to page nineteen.”
He flips through the old pages. “Got it.”
“You are to institute Operation Wrangler immediately,” the colonel says. “Your code word to activate Operation Wrangler isOmaha. Does that match?”
“Yes, yes, it does,” the chief says.
“Good,” the colonel says. “Proceed as ordered.”
