a living thing, a city of shadows being built out of the ether through which information traveled. Jack could feel the low-level hysteria that gripped everyone in the room, as if they had the jaws of a rabid dog clamped to their throats. Their shared concentration, like a stale odor, like sardines too long in the can, made him want to draw back to catch a breath.
Beyond, one could go left into the headmistress's office proper, or right into a room she used for private conferences. It was into the latter room that Jack was led. His silent escort left him at the door, disappearing presumably to handle other pressing concerns.
When Jack stepped into the room, a man looked up. He was perched impatiently on the edge of one of the two facing sofas separated by a glass-topped coffee table. Nina raised a hand, palm up, fingers slightly curled. 'This is First Deputy Hugh Garner.'
'Please sit down,' Garner said with a smile as narrow as his retro tie. He was a tall man with prematurely gray hair, severe as his smile or his tie. He had a face Jack associated with a late-night TV pitchman-smooth of cheek, shiny of eye, his manner confident or glib, depending on your point of view. One thing Jack could see right away: He was a purely political creature, which put him at odds with Jack, and therefore dangerous. 'You need to be brought up to speed as quickly as possible.'
He offered a sheaf of papers-forensic reports, possible witness interviews, search results, photos of everything that had been vacuumed up from Alli and Emma's room. (Jack couldn't help thinking of it in that way.)
Nina Miller settled herself by scooping the sides of her skirt under her thighs. Her eyes were bright, inquisitive, completely noncommittal.
Garner said, 'First thing: We've sent out a news brief on the reason for government agents here, as well as the whereabouts of Alli Carson.'
Jack, preoccupied with the reports, did not immediately respond. He had stood up, moved over to the window so sunlight spilled across the pages. He kept his back to the others, shoulders slightly hunched. He tried to relax his body without much success. The letters, words, clauses, sentences on the pages swam in front of his eyes like terrified fish. They swirled like snowflakes, spiraled like water down a drain, pogoed like Mexican jumping beans.
Jack was having trouble finding his spot. Stress always did that to him, not only made his dyslexia worse but interfered with the techniques he'd been taught to work around it. Like all dyslexics, he had a brain designed to recognize things visually, not verbally. The speed of his thought processes was somewhere between four hundred and two thousand times faster than for people whose brains were wired for word-based thought. But that became a liability around written words, since his mind buzzed like a bee trying to find its way into a blocked hive. Dyslexics learned by doing. They learned to read by literally picturing each word. But there was a host of disorienting trigger words, such as
'There's no way of knowing, however, how long our disinformation will hold up. On the Internet, where every blogger is a reporter, there's a limited time we can keep something like this a secret,' Garner continued.
Jack felt the others' eyes on him as he crossed the room. He spoke up, more to distract himself from his growing terror than from a need to engage Garner. In fact, his fervent wish was for a sinkhole to open up under Garner and Nina Miller, swallow them whole, but no luck. When he looked, both of them were still alive and well. 'How long do we have?'
'A week, possibly less.'
Jack turned back to the gibberish that spitefully refused to resolve itself into language.
'You aren't finished yet?' Garner said from over Jack's right shoulder.
'I'm sure Mr. McClure needs a moment to orient himself to our standards of methodology,' Nina said, 'which are quite different from those of the ATF.' She walked over to Jack. 'Am I right, Mr. McClure?'
Jack nodded, unable to get his vocal cords out of their own way.
'ATF, yes, I see.' Garner's laugh held a rancid note. 'I trust our protocols aren't too difficult for you to follow.'
Nina pointed to paragraphs on certain pages, read them aloud, as if to speed the process of familiarization by highlighting elements the team found of particular interest. Jack, his stomach clenched painfully, felt relief, but with it came a flush of secret shame. His frustration had morphed into anger, just as it always did. Trying to control that poisonous alchemical process was the key to maneuvering through the briar patch of his disability. He shuffled the papers as if scanning them for the second time.
'The reports contain no pertinent information, let alone leads or conclusions as to which direction the investigation should go,' he said. 'What about the private-security people, any last-minute changes in the night watchmen, and have you reviewed the CCTV tapes for last night?'
'We've interviewed the security personnel.' Nina took the file from him. 'No one called in sick, there were no sudden personnel substitutions. Neither the men on duty nor the tapes showed anything out of the ordinary.'
Had Nina read off sections of the report to help him? Had she somehow found out about his secret? Bennett wouldn't have given him up, no matter the pressure, so how?
Garner said, 'Edward Carson prevailed on the president to have you reassigned to us. I'm not one to beat around the bush, McClure. I think his interference is a mistake.'
'A moron could understand president-elect Carson's line of reasoning,' Jack said with a deliberate lack of edge to his voice. 'I'm intimately familiar with the college grounds and the surrounding area. And because my daughter was Alli Carson's roommate, I'm familiar with her in ways you or your people can't be.'
'Oh, yes,' Garner sneered. 'I have no doubt Carson considers those assets, but I have another take. I think this intimacy is a personalization, and will play as a detriment. It will distort your thinking, blur your objectivity. You see where I'm going?'
Jack glanced briefly at Nina, but her face was as closed as a fist.
'Everyone's entitled to his opinion,' Jack said carefully.
The narrow smile appeared like a wound. 'As the head of this task force, my opinion is the one that counts.'
'So, what?' Jack spread his hands. 'Have you brought me here to fire me?'
'Have you ever heard of 'missionary secularism'?' Garner continued as if Jack hadn't spoken.
'No. I haven't.'
'I rest my case.' Garner flipped the file onto the carpet. 'That's about all those reports are good for-floor covering. Because they're built on old-school assumptions, we have to give those assumptions the boot or we'll never get anywhere on this case.' He perched on the edge of the sofa again, linked his fingers, pressed the pads of his thumbs together as if they were sparring partners about to go at it. 'It can be no surprise even to you that for the past eight years the Administration has been guiding the country along a new path of faith-based initiatives. Religion-the belief in God, in America's God-given place in the world-is what makes this country strong, what can unite it. Move it into a new golden age of global influence and power.
'But then there are the naysayers: the far-left liberals, the gays, the fringe elements of society, the disenfranchised, the deviants, the weak-willed, the criminal.'
'The criminal-?'
'The abortionists, McClure. The baby killers, the family destroyers, the sodomites.'
Again, Jack glanced at Nina, who was flicking what appeared to be a non ex is tent piece of lint off her skirt. Jack said nothing because this argument-if you could call it that-was nonrational, and therefore not open to debate.
'There's a Frog by the name of Michel Infra. This bastard is the self-proclaimed leader of a movement of militant atheists. He's on record as claiming that atheism is in a final battle with what he terms 'theological hocus- pocus.' He's far from the only one. In Germany, a so-called think tank of Enlightenment, made up of Godless scientists and the like-the same dangerous alarmists proclaiming that global warming is the end of the world-are promulgating the devilish notion that the world would be better off without religion. The president is beside himself.
