Stansfield saw sweat forming on Garret’s upper lip and followed his eyes again to
Mike Nance. When Stansfield reached Nance, the national security adviser was staring back at him. Stansfield casually lowered his eyes as if he were reading the transcript.
When the tape ended, the President sat dumbfounded, staring at the transcript in his hands.
“This is unbelievable.” Stevens looked up. “Special Agent McMahon, is this for real?” McMahon shrugged his shoulders. “Without having had the time to really analyze it, I would have to say there’s a good chance …. After the Marine One incident last Friday they sent us a tape stating that the only reason they didn’t blow you out of the sky was because they didn’t want to kill any Marines or Secret Service agents. Now three days later, they blow up Senator Olson’s limousine with four Secret Service agents in it, and then last night they kill Congressman Turnquist and four U.S. marshals. The logic is inconsistent. No offense, sir, but if I was in their shoes, I would have shot Marine One down. You are a far more important target.”
“That’s assuming they had the hardware to do so,” interjected a calm and composed
Mike Nance from the far end of the table. “Stinger missiles are very difficult to come by.
I don’t think we can be certain that they had the ability to shoot Marine One down.”
Director Stansfield stared impassively at Nance and wondered why he’d just lied.
Seven months earlier Nance had personally briefed him that the Chinese were pushing their own version of the Stinger on the open market.
McMahon continued, “Well, these last two murders are markedly different. Until last night they had been very patient. killing and then waiting to see if their demands were met. I can see where they would have wanted to kill Olson.
After all, he helped form the coalition, but it makes no sense that they would rush out and kill Turnquist without giving you a chance to respond to their demands.”
“Where does it say any of this has to make sense?” snapped Garret.
McMahon ignored the comment. “I think that we have no choice but to look into the possibility that there may be another group.”
“Unbelievable,” scoffed Garret. “Has it occurred to you that maybe they sent you this message to throw you off?.”
“Yes, it has.”
“Well, Mr. McMahon, I think you’re having a hard enough time running this investigation without letting these terrorists confuse you with one simple phone call. It’s no wonder you haven’t made any progress when you’re willing to run off on these wild-goose chases.” McMahon smiled broadly and bobbed his head up and down at Garret.
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“Do you find this humorous, Mr. McMahon?” asked Garret. “No.” McMahon continued to grin.
“Then what in the hell are you smiling about?”
“If I didn’t smile at your childish behavior, I wouldn’t be able to keep myself from jumping over this table and knocking your head off.”
The smile faded from McMahon’s face and he turned to Stevens. “As I was saying, Mr. President, we have no choice but to take this seriously.” Stu Garret’s face was turning a new shade of red, and he was about to open his mouth and explode when from the far end of the table Mike Nance drew the attention of everyone away from Garret and to himself. “I think Special Agent McMahon is correct. We can’t just ignore this phone call, but I do think there are some guidelines we need to set up.” Nance continued to talk in his smooth, even voice, content that he had diverted the focus of the group away from the volatile Garret.
Michael arrived at his office at 8 A.M. and left instructions with Susan that he didn’t want to be disturbed unless it was Seamus or Liz.
With less than three hours of sleep since Monday, he collapsed on the sofa. As he drifted away, he thought of the innocent men and their families and, for the hundredth time in the last two days, asked himself who could be behind the killings. He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep when he heard Susan’s voice calling for him over the intercom. Throwing off the blanket, he jumped off the couch and grabbed the phone.
“Yes.”
“Seamus, line one.”
There was a click and then Michael heard his grandfather’s voice.
“Michael?” The Congressman shook his left arm, which had fallen asleep.
“Yeah.”
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
“What’s your schedule look like for the rest of the day?”
Michael rubbed his eyes. “Well, we’re not in session until Monday, so I’m pretty open.”
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“Good. I thought it might be nice for you and me to get away for a while and spend some relaxing time up in the clouds.” Michael wondered what Seamus had in mind. It was obvious that he couldn’t talk about it over the phone. “Ah… that sounds great.
What time and where do you want to meet?”
“How about noon at your house?” Michael looked at his watch and was surprised to see that it was 11:07 A.M.
