Stevens shot Roach a look of disgust. “After some discussion with General Flood and Secretary Elliot, I have decided to declare martial law for the
192
immediate area surrounding the Capitol, the Senate and House office buildings, and the
White House. Elements of the First Marine Expeditionary Force and the 101st Airborne
Rangers will be used to secure the perimeter. These units will be in full combat dress and will carry live ammunition. General Flood has informed me that he will have this phase of the operation in place by sundown tonight.
“In addition to these extra measures I am going to extend to every Congressman and
Senator the option to move themselves and their families to Fort Meade for the duration of this crisis. The National Airlift Command is flying in one hundred forty-two luxury trailers that our generals use when they are on maneuvers in the field. Fort Meade also has over two hundred housing units that are not being used, and if that’s not enough, we have over a thousand modern tents equipped with generators, plumbing, and heating. The general’s people are working out the details right now and estimate that they will have everything ready to go within forty- eight hours.
“In the meantime, the general is pulling special security units from the Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines to handle protection for the ranking members of the House and the Senate. Most of these units specialize in base security. I am told they are very well armed and trained in counter commando tactics.
I have talked to the leaders of both parties, and they have agreed to reconvene for a legislative session on Monday morning, after we have these new security measures in place. Until then all official business will be suspended.” The President looked to Roach and said, “I am not happy about having to take these drastic measures, but the inability of our Federal law enforcement agencies to stem the tide of violence has left me with no alternative.” Stu Garret had the slightest hint of a smile on his lips as he watched Stevens put the screws to Roach. The President was repeating almost verbatim what Garret had told him to say an hour earlier. McMahon, on the other hand, found nothing humorous about the situation. He didn’t enjoy watching his boss take the heat for something that wasn’t his fault. He looked away from the President to hide his disgust while recalling that Roach had originally suggested that the military be brought in to help secure the area around the Capitol, and that the President and Garret had said no. Roach shrugged off the
President’s comments and moved the discussion forward. “Mr. President, we’ve had a very unusual development concerning the investigation. Special Agent McMahon received another phone call from the terrorists this morning.” Roach looked at McMahon.
“Skip.”
McMahon cleared his throat. “This morning at about six-fifteen I received a very interesting phone call.” McMahon pulled a cassette tape out of his pocket and handed it to Jack Lortch. “Jack, would you please put this in the tape player for me?” Passing sheets of paper to his right and left, McMahon said, “These are transcripts of the conversation. I think it would be best if I let you hear the tape and then discuss it afterwards.” Lortch walked over to the podium at the end of the table and inserted the tape. Eight small, black speakers were mounted on the walls around the room. Some static noise hissed and crackled from them, and then the sterile computer voice filled the room. “Special Agent McMahon?” After a pause, McMahon’s tired voice came over the
193
tape. “Yes, this is he.” CIA director Stansfield had acquired a lot of habits from his days as a spy. One of them was the ability to study people’s mannerisms while listening to them speak.
This occupational habit had become so ingrained in Stansfield that without consciously thinking about it, he leaned back in his chair and held the manuscript in front of him. His eyes peered over the top of the white sheet and worked their way around the table, looking for someone to focus in on. The computerized voice continued, “I will assume you are recording and tracing this call, so I’ll be brief. The people that killed
Senator Fitzgerald, Congressman Koslowski, Senator Downs, and Congressman Basset did not kill Senator Olson, Congressman Turnquist, and their bodyguards.” A quick head turn caught Stansfield’s eye. He looked at Garret’s wide eyes and followed them across the table to Mike Nance.
Stansfield went back to Garret and examined his facial features. The chief of staff’s jaw was tense and his nostrils were slightly flared.
After a full pause, McMahon’s voice responded, “I’m not sure I follow you.”
“There is a second group of killers. A group that killed Olson, Turnquist, and their bodyguards.” Stansfield saw it again. Garret shot Nance another look. “Why should I
believe you?”
“We let Burmiester live.” McMahon interjected while there was a pause in the tape, “For those of you who don’t remember, Burmiester is the retired banker who lives across the street from Congressman Koslowski.”
McMahon’s taped voice continued, “A lot of people know about Burmiester.
That doesn’t prove anything.”
“Mr. McMahon, we do not kill Secret Service agents and U.S. marshals.
As we stated in the last message we left for you, we have a deep respect for members of the law enforcement community. Our fight is with the politicians, not you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong-” The sterile voice cut McMahon off. “Ask yourself one question. If we were willing to kill four Secret Service agents to get at Olson and four
U.S. marshals to get at Turnquist, why wouldn’t we have blown the President out of the sky last Friday?”
There was a pause in the tape and Stansfield thought of looking to see the President’s reaction but was too absorbed in watching Garret. “The answer is that we didn’t kill
Olson and Turnquist. Someone else did.”
194
