Page 51 of Cross Down
The last time Bree was here, Alex’s oxygen saturation was 100 percent.
He’s passing.“I’m his wife,” she repeats, “and I’m going to be with him.” Bree steps forward, and no one stops her, no one tells her to go.
But the frantic work goes on.
“We need that pulse ox up, damn it,” one of the physicians says.
Bree gets as close as she can to Alex. “Right here, Alex,” she says through tears. “Right here, forever.”
Chapter
61
In his largeyet spartan office at the Pentagon, General Wayne Grissom waits for his next appointment to arrive, and while he’s not looking forward to it, he considers it his duty, as old-fashioned as that sounds. American taxpayers foot the bill for the Defense Department’s annual $725 billion budget, and as one of those accountable for its spending, he sees it as his responsibility to allow himself to be interviewed by certain members of the fourth estate.
There’s a soft knock on the door, and his aide, Colonel Carla Kendricks, steps in. “Sir, are you ready?”
Grissom stands up. “Absolutely. Show him in.”
The door opens wider and a familiar man strides in. He’s in his mid-thirties, with thin brown hair, and he’s wearing black-rimmed glasses, a blue dress shirt with no tie, a navy blue suit jacket, and gray slacks.
Justin Foote, national affairs reporter for theWashington Post.
He smiles, nods, reaches over for a quick handshake, and takes a chair in front of Grissom’s wide but clear desk.
“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice this evening, General Grissom,” Justin says.
Grissom takes his own seat. “Glad I can help, Justin, but I’m afraid I can only give you ten minutes.”
Justin takes out an old-fashioned reporter’s notebook and a ballpoint pen. “That should be enough, I hope.”
“Let’s get to it, then. A reminder that from now on, anything I say is to be attributed to a ‘senior military official.’ Agreed?”
Justin nods. “Agreed.” He flips a page on his notebook. “It’s just been announced that the president is going to address the nation tonight. Were you aware of this, General?”
Grissom thinks,Crap, no,and aloud he says, “What do you think?”
A faint smile. “Any idea what he’ll be talking about?”
“The current crisis, I imagine.”
Justin says, “The continuing terrorist attacks that began last April and that have continued right up to this morning. At least several hundred Americans dead, thousands injured.”
“There’s no question there, Justin.” He checks his watch. “Seven minutes left.”
“Here’s a question then, General,” he says. “For the past few days, there’s been a secret committee working to locate the command, control, and financing of these terrorist attacks. Local agencies, intelligence agencies, Defense Department. I have contacts in most of those agencies. I hear you’re running this secret committee.”
Grissom pauses. If Justin has this story, others will get it as well. “That’s true,” he says.
“Any progress made?”
“Some, but not enough.”
“Why is that?” Foote asks.
He spends a few minutes explaining the technological challenges of trying to track down a well-organized and well-financed organization that reaches across the United States and uses the latest technology to keep two or three steps ahead of investigators.
“You said you believe it’s a large, organized, and well-financed group,” Justin says. “Some on your committee disagree. Like Secretary of Homeland Security Landsdale.”
