The Threat

“A team composed of local and Kentucky State Police SWAT teams assaulted twenty minutes ago. We are still waiting for some indication as to exactly how much of this dangerous material, thought at this time to be radioactive waste, this aircraft contains. Preliminary indications are that the hijackers were members of an armed terrorist group. The destination of the aircraft has not been released.”

The camera cut to a woman in a dark suit. Dan thought at first she was a news anchor, then saw that she stood at a podium, the FBI seal behind her.

“Regional Director Claire Bruffi announced the plot had been uncovered by a joint team from the FBI and the CIA. The aircraft’s takeoff was earlier than expected. This morning FBI raids are being launched in Pomona, California, where the explosives and other materials involved were stored prior to loading the aircraft.”

The voice-over stopped and the woman said, “It is simply fortunate that we managed to catch the aircraft on the ground, before explosives could be rigged for detonation. We owe thanks to the valiant officers of the Guard and the Kentucky State Police who boarded the plane, once it had landed to refuel, and to the patient and dangerous investigative work by Bureau agents that resulted in the disclosure of the plot.”

Lynch, Alvarado, and Harlowe growled, glanced at Dan. They looked outraged. He said nothing. Just swirled his coffee, feeling a strange amalgam of relief and anger. Relief that they’d managed to foil the threat. Anger that ass-covering and lies would prevent his people from getting any credit. What had Sebold said? About how much of what went on inside the iron fence never went public? Now he understood.

“Those fuckers,” Lynch said. “They had nothing

to do with this. We put it together. You put it all together.”

Dan said, “You really think they can say that? That a bunch of field-grade bozos in White House counterdrug stapled this together in their spare time?”

“They should give us credit—”

“You know what the media’d do with that,” Marty Harlowe said. “They’d say: Why do our wonderful intelligence agencies need so much funding if they missed something this big?”

Alvarado said, “It’s a good question.” They looked at him and he said, “Well? Isn’t it?”

The phone rang. The slick-headed admin sergeant answered it. Ouderkirk’s eyes flicked to Dan, who started to get up. But the receptionist held up his hand. Said, “Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am,” and hung up.

To Dan he said, “That was Mrs. Clayton, sir. She just got in. She’d like to see you in her office.”

III

EAST WING