“NONE OF YOU ARE OUT OF OUR reach, not even the President,” all eyes in the room turned from the TV to President Stevens… all eyes except those of Special Agent
McMahon. McMahon had turned away from the group and was clutching his digital phone, waiting for someone to answer on the other end. “Special Agent Jennings.”
“Kathy, this is Skip. Get someone down to NBC’s studio on the double.
Call ahead and tell them we’re coming to seize that letter as evidence, and until we get there, I don’t want anyone touching it. I’m sure half their damn newsroom has already put their fingerprints all over it.”
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“I’ve already got Phillips and Reynolds on their way over, and Troy is on the phone trying to get ahold of whoever is in charge.”
“Good.” McMahon paused for a second. “Listen, let’s gamble on the chance that they sent more than one of these. Call the post office and find out when the other networks and major papers get their mail delivered. Send some people over to CBS, ABC, and CNN.
Hopefully we can get our hands on one of these before it’s been opened.”
“Anything else?”
“No, call me if you find anything out. I’m on my way back to the office.” McMahon hit the end button on the phone, placed it in his pocket, and spun back around. “What was that all about?” asked the President. “Just trying to see if we can get a hold of one of these letters before it has a dozen different sets of fingerprints on it.”
“Can we take this seriously? I mean, isn’t it quite possible that someone sent this trying to take responsibility for the murders even though they didn’t commit them?
Doesn’t that type of thing happen all the time in these cases?” The President was visibly shaken by the letter and more precisely the mention of his office. “Yes, sir, it’s quite common to get letters and phone calls from groups who did not perpetrate the crime, but not this early. It usually starts days or weeks later.
These murders were committed less than eight hours ago.” Garret, trying to reassert himself after being embarrassed by McMahon earlier, jumped to his boss’s side. “That doesn’t mean that someone couldn’t have written that letter and dropped it off this morning, after hearing about the killings. I mean, Mr. McMahon, we have to keep our minds open about this.” McMahon desperately wanted to get up and leave. He needed to be back at the Hoover Building running this investigation.
“Mr. Garret, anything is possible at this point.” McMahon turned to the President to ask permission to leave, but before he could do so, Garret blurted out another question.
“How do we know it’s not meant to confuse us? Maybe someone killed them for a different reason, like wanting to scuttle the President’s budget or wanting to damage this
Presidency. Maybe they sent this letter to make us look in the wrong places.” McMahon glared at Garret for a brief moment and told himself to keep his temper in check.
“Mr. Garret, we know very little so far. That is why we need to investigate. I will take all of your theories under advisement and keep an open mind.” McMahon turned from
Garret to the President.
“Sir, if you don’t mind, I really need to be out in the field coordinating this investigation.”
“Why … yes … of course.” McMahon leaned over, whispered in Roach’s ear, then rose and left the room.
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The small conference room in Congressman O’Rourke’s office contained the same furniture it had when O’Rourke had taken over the previous year.
O’Rourke saw no sense in following the age-old Washington tradition of getting rid of perfectly good furniture and buying new stuff at the taxpayers’ expense. O’Rourke, his brother Tim, Susan, and several staffers were sitting around the color TV watching
George Blake continue to read the letter sent by the group claiming responsibility for the murders of Koslowski, Fitzgerald, and Downs. O’Rourke sat without movement or emotion, staring at the TV, while the others shouted comments back and forth. His hands were pressed together in front of his face, forming a triangle. After Blake read the letter for the fourth time, Nick Swenson, one of O’Rourke’s young staffers, turned to his boss.
“Well, Michael, you don’t have to worry about them killing you. It sounds like they’re right up your alley.” O’Rourke glanced over at the blond-haired Swenson with a neutral expression.
Inside, however, O’Rourke was far from emotionless. Tim O’Rourke looked at his brother from across the table. “Michael, what do you think about all of this?”
O’Rourke slowly brought his hands down. “I don’t think our country will miss the likes of Fitzgerald, Downs, and Koslowski.”
Tim frowned and said, “Michael, that may well be true, but please don’t say that in public. They were Senators and Congressman, and no matter what you think of their politics, you can’t go around saying they deserved to die.”
“I didn’t say they deserved to die. I only said they won’t be missed.”
“The press won’t bother to make that distinction. They’ll put on the front page of every newspaper, ‘Congressman O’Rourke Says Koslowski, Downs and Fitzgerald
Deserved to Die!’” Tim held his hand up and punctuated every word. “I don’t care what the press does.”
“I know you don’t care what they do, Michael, but there are other people in this office who care about their careers and their future in politics.” Michael leaned in a little closer to his brother and in a lower voice said, “I’m not entirely comfortable with assassins running around our capital, but if it takes killing a couple of corrupt dinosaurs like
Koslowski, Fitzgerald, and Downs to bring about some change, I’m all for it.” Tim
