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Chapter
2
I watch thegeneral’s face. One of these terrorist attacks occurred this morning on F Street, right outside the General Services Administration Building. A red Toyota RAV4 stuffed with C-4 and roofing nails exploded, killing eight and injuring thirty-four. The bomb wasn’t designed to take down the building, although a number of its windows were blown out by the force of the explosion. No, it was designed to scythe down government workers streaming into the building’s lobby, none of whom knew that those would be the last steps they would ever take.
Like it had in two other recent car bombings in DC, the FBI bigfooted its way into the MPD’s investigation and took over. When the FBI arrives, that’s it. Protocol allows them to be the lead agency in terrorist attacks. As a homicide detective for the Metro Police, I should still be there at the car-bombing crime scene, but an urgent text took me away from F Street to this hidden bunker.
I fold my arms. There’s a slight murmur from the principals sitting close to the president, among them the secretaries of state, defense, and homeland security. Also at the table are representatives from the FBI, the NSA, and the CIA as well as assorted handlers and assistants. I’m pleased to see a familiar face among the bunch: FBI supervising special agent Ned Mahoney. Alex and I have gotten to know him well over the years.
The president says, “This is not a time for turf battles, withholding information, or nursing old grudges. General Grissom has my full support to take command of the situation, and I expect everyone in this room to give him his or her complete cooperation. If you feel you cannot work with General Grissom, I want your resignation within the hour. General?”
“Thank you, Mr. President,” he says. “First, I’d like to thank the intelligence and law enforcement agencies who have cooperated with me over these past few months. And as for those who haven’t returned my phone calls yet, an hour after this meeting will work just fine.” He turns to a female officer. “Colonel?”
The colonel’s name tag saysKENDRICKS.From a soft black leather briefcase, she pulls out a sheaf of papers. She splits them into two stacks and sends a stack down each side of the table. Each person takes one, and there are none left for those of us sitting in the cheap seats.
Grissom says, “This is a single-sheet briefing on the terrorist attacks—the details, locations, and resulting casualties. You’ll see that each page is numbered. When this meeting is over, Colonel Kendricks will ensure that each sheet is returned.”
The two men in front of us are leaning into each other, talking in low tones, and I get up and put my hands on their shoulders and say, “I bet you fellows won’t mind sharing, right?” Before they can answer, I pluck the sheet from one man’s hands and return to sit next to Alex.
He whispers, “And that’s why we love having Big John around.”
I say, “You love having Big John around because when we go out, I pay your bar tab.” I hold the sheet of heavy white stock, which has only the insignia of the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, noTOP SECRETorNOFORNorCLASSIFIEDstamps or stickers. Just a list.
It starts this past April 15—Columbus, Georgia, a sniper attack downtown; six killed, fourteen wounded.
Alex and I look at the list of familiar and less familiar city names: San Francisco; Los Angeles; Leavenworth; Tulsa; Arapahoe, Nebraska; Manchester, Vermont; and on and on.
A woman’s voice cuts through the chatter. “Excuse me, General, a moment?”
The room falls silent as Secretary of Homeland Security Doris Landsdale speaks. “I’m curious why you’re keeping this briefing sheet so closely guarded. These attacks have been in the news all spring and summer.”
Grissom says, “Madam Secretary, agreed, but this is the first time we’ve identified all of these attacks as coming from a single source.”
Landsdale says, “You really think the terrorists are unaware that we know this?”
Next to the president, his chief of staff smiles slightly, like she’s in agreement with Secretary Landsdale.
The general’s voice is ice-cold calm when he says, “Some of these attacks are still considered one-offs by the public, industrial accidents or random crimes. Like the school-bus shooting in Los Angeles. The initial investigation and news reports said the school bus got caught in the cross fire between two feuding street gangs. We now know that is not true.”
Alex takes a breath and I know exactly what he’s envisioning: his younger son, Ali, in a similar school bus in the midst of gunfire.
And I know that’s on Alex’s mind because I’m thinking almost the same thing: My sweet seven-year-old, Willow, in a school-bus seat, feet not quite touching the floor, excitedly talking to a friend; a vehicle pulls up, its windows roll down, and black barrels of automatic weapons emerge…
Focus,I think,stop with the nightmares.
One man nattily dressed in an expensive-looking gray suit and a Harvard tie says, “General, at the beginning of your presentation, you said we have a week. What does that mean?”
Grissom says, “A massive attack on Washington will occur in approximately one week. And from what we’ve learned so far, it’s going to make the January sixth attacks look like a junior-high dance.”
Chapter
3
While that newssinks in, Grissom says, “General Martinez, tell us the latest from the NSA and how you’ve determined the deadline we’re facing.”
A slim Hispanic woman in a dark blue suit answers. “We were called in after the third terrorist attack, the dual car bombs in Kansas City and St. Louis. In those cities, we worked with the respective FBI offices and their terrorism task forces. We did a data sweep within a certain radius of the bombing—e-mails, texts, cell phone data, internet traffic patterns, and GPS locations. We found an increase in encrypted data from the cell phone towers nearest to the bombing locations about an hour before the attack. We went back to the previous two terrorist attacks, Columbus and then DC, and found the same pattern.”
Grissom says, “But nothing useful was determined.”
