Page 64 of Cross Down
“Don’t you get it?” Mahoney asks. “You have two radically different armed groups, one going after a Black organization in Chicago, the other going against white supremacists in Idaho. Yet both groups have the same story of how they went from street protests to armed attacks—support and weapons from someone claiming to be a fellow traveler.”
Grissom says, “The purpose of terror is terror. That’s what concerns me. There’s no single thread, no political position, that pulls these attacks together. What does the NSA say?”
There are several minutes of technical discussion concerning data analyses of captured cell phones from the attackers in Chicago and Iowa and the NSA’s attempts to see if any increase in cell tower use can be traced back to suspicious data packs.
Grissom says, “You’ve got nothing solid, then. Nothing we can use to track the terrorists down or prevent another attack.”
“No, sir,” replies the air force colonel representing the NSA.
Sitting next to Grissom is Helen Taft, the president’s chief of staff. “Helen,” he says, “I’d like to meet with the president later. Can you arrange that?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” she says dismissively.
Grissom nearly explodes.The most serious domestic threat this nation has faced in decades, and all you’ve got to say is “I’ll see what I can do”?Even his assistant, Colonel Carla Kendricks, looks stunned at Taft’s response.
He keeps his cool and takes one last glance around the conference table, eager to get out of here and back to the Pentagon. “Ladies and gentlemen, I know we’re all frustrated with these attacks, with the lack of progress in our investigations, and with the knowledge that a larger and more destructive attack is imminent.” He takes a breath. “But please, keep focused, keep fresh. While I don’t know all of you personally, I do know that you’ve arrived in your current positions because of hard work, determination, the desire to serve this nation, and a lot of sacrifice. Some of you have sacrificed time with your family and the opportunity to have larger salaries in the private sector, and others have pressed on in the face of even harder sacrifices.”
All eyes are now on him, and he feels his throat tighten. “Including myself.” He pauses. “As I’m sure most of you know, I lost my son, Nathan, five years ago in an IED attack in Afghanistan. Yet I’ve pressed on, and I’m asking you to continue on with me in this effort. This nation is worth saving. And we will do that, no matter what it takes—”
Secretary Landsdale interrupts. “With all due respect, General, what have our efforts accomplished? We supposedly have the largest and most capable foreign and domestic intelligence services in the world, and all we’ve come up with are ghosts, hints, and the ever-popular chatter. Do we have any real idea of what’s going on?”
Grissom snaps, “What the hell do you want, Doris? An organization tree with every terrorist’s phone number and e-mail? That’s TV and Hollywood bullshit, and unfortunately, this is reality—gritty, confusing, and, in the end, exceptionally dangerous. Anybody else?”
Silence.
Grissom stands up. “Fine. We’ll put out a communication later today with the next meeting’s time and location.”
Everyone else gets up too, and to the chief of staff’s well-groomed back, Grissom calls out, “Helen! Can I get a moment, please?”
Taft either doesn’t hear him or ignores him; she quickly exits the conference room.
Accompanied by Secretary Doris Landsdale, the two of them deep in conversation.
Colonel Kendricks is next to him. “I don’t like what I’m seeing,” she says.
Grissom says, “Neither do I.”
Chapter
74
About ten minutesafter our friend on the hill gunned down the two armed men approaching us on the dirt road, Deacon and I are on a narrow paved lane that laughably calls itself State Highway 19.
I’m driving a few miles over the speed limit when I see flashing blue lights ahead. I slow down some.
Elizabeth Deacon sees them too. “Police vehicles,” she says. “You intend to stop?”
Two New Hampshire State Police cruisers roar past us.
“No,” I say.
About ten seconds later, more blue lights appear. They’re on light poles, secured to the bumpers of tan-colored army Humvees. They go by quickly as well.
Deacon turns to watch them pass and says, “Active-duty army or National Guard responding with local police? Never happens, not ever, unless there’s been some sort of emergency declaration.”
“Maybe there has been and we just don’t know it. I could turn around and follow the Humvees, ask the drivers when they stop.”
Deacon shifts in the seat. “John, stop trying to lighten up the mood. It’s not working.”
