“Like hell,” said Blitz.
“Don’t get mad, Professor. The review isn’t going to take that long.”
“Are you trying to torpedo Howe’s appointment?”
“Absolutely not.”
Blitz knew a lie when he heard one, but there was nothing he could do about it at the moment.
Chapter 18
Fisher had a prime seat for the press conference: back near the coffee and doughnuts laid out for the media types. That meant he couldn’t get a good view of Macklin and Kowalski as they smiled for the cameras: another plus.
It was a crowded podium. Besides Macklin and Kowalski, the city mayor, the police commissioner, the local federal attorney, the governor, and the district attorney from Staten Island were all on the stage at Gracie Mansion in Manhattan to announce the triumph. So much for setting up a sting.
They had, at least, made an arrest on the person who had leased the warehouse. He was an Egyptian emigre who’d been in America for four years. His name was Said Ahmet, and he claimed he had rented it to people who wanted to store auto parts. The story was so lame that Fisher was tempted to believe it. In the meantime, warrants had been arranged for several business associates of Ahmet, and city detectives were out looking for them. Faud, who had not been connected to the warehouse except by Fisher’s roundabout logic, was now on a list of people to be apprehended but his name and description were not being released to the press.
If Fisher had had his way, nothing would be released to the press, and there would be no press conference at all. But at least the cheese blintzes were good.
“Andy, it’s been great working with you,” said Macklin after the TV cameras shut down.
“You going on vacation?”
“No. The case is closed.”
“No it’s not,” said Fisher.
“Well, yeah, we have to wrap up loose ends and such. But Jeez, Fisher, don’t you ever relax? We celebrate today, take off a long weekend, then come back and kick down doors Monday.”
“Whose doors?”
“It’s a figure of speech. Besides, you’re out of here.”
“How do you mean that?” asked Fisher, shaking out a fresh cigarette.
“Your assignment only lasted until we broke the case. I’m supposed to give you back to the Bureau as soon as I can. The case is closed. We’ll be turning it all over to the U.S. attorney anyway and disbanding the task force. So thanks.” He held out his hand.
“Who says we broke the case?”
Macklin just about crossed his eyes.
“We still don’t understand the connection between the E-bomb and the sarin gas.” Fisher hated stating the obvious, even to a fellow investigator, but there seemed no other choice.
“There is no connection. God, you’re the guy who figured that out. You said—”
“That alone ought to be enough to bother you,” said Fisher, walking away.
Part Four. Heroes and Other Players
Chapter 1
Tyler tapped the keys of his laptop, jotting the notes about the performance of the different weapons systems as the major assigned to brief him continued. Though he wasn’t here to evaluate weapons or the unit’s performance, Tyler let the officer vent. He was complaining about the failure of the coordinated information system that was supposed to provide battlefield commanders with coordinated real-time information from a variety of sources. Potentially revolutionary in design — in theory, the smallest fighting unit would have access to battlefield intelligence that only a few years before would have been hard to get at any level — the system was prone to failure. In place of real-time topographic maps with enemy positions, soldiers had found blue screens on the vehicle displays, laptops, and handheld computers they had carried into battle.
The NCOs were especially bitter, noted the major, as they’d been complaining for months about the systems. Tyler knew that while the sergeants generally ran the show, the upper-level people rarely paid enough attention to their advice. As a captain, he’d worked hard to be different; he knew a lot of other officers — this major undoubtedly was one — did, too, but the split between enlisted and officer was somehow ingrained in the culture.
Somers seemed amused by the failures of technology. He sat back on his metal folding chair, finger against his lip as he listened.
“The key point here,” said the historian as the major’s tirade finally ran out of steam, “is that your people found suitable work-arounds at the crisis point. Which to my mind illustrates their resourcefulness and training. It requires a supportive command structure as well. So, despite the technology screwups, once more the human factor came to the fore.”
“Sure. Of course,” said the major.
“The NCOs and the officers did well despite having one hand tied behind their backs with the technology screwups.”
“And the men.”
“Absolutely,” said the officer.
Had the praise come from Tyler, it would have probably been dismissed as ass-kissing, or worse. But Somers made it sound more important and somehow more genuine. He was right, of course: The fact of the matter was that the Army had done well not because of its cutting-edge doodads — they’d screwed up — but because of its training and a command structure and culture that emphasized personal initiative in combat.
As they turned to the matter at hand, the major proved insightful and well connected; he picked up a phone and arranged a helicopter for a tour of several units to the east in the countryside.
“Did you butter him up on purpose?” Tyler asked Somers as they walked toward the chopper later.
“Butter him up?” Somers made a face. “Sometimes it’s important to state the obvious. We lose track of it. This was the sort of advance that will be studied for a long time. Partly it succeeded because it was made against a demoralized, ill-equipped army that had no reason to fight. But such armies have surprised generals for centuries. Napoleon, Guderian, Burgoyne. Studying failure is instructive,” added the historian as he pulled himself up into the Blackhawk. “The technology has to be straightened out. But we can’t let the shortcomings obscure the successes.”
Even from the helicopter, the poverty of the North Koreans was clear. Roads were rutted and empty, houses in the countryside were little more than shacks and often in disrepair. The country’s abject state was almost a caricature. How, Tyler wondered, could a ruler so badly fail his people?
The translator, a South Korean on loan to the group, was somewhat prejudiced against the peasants they spoke to after putting down at a forward outpost. He shook his head as he explained that the people had no idea what they would eat when winter came.
“Ask if they have guns,” said Tyler.
The translator practically rolled his eyes, but he asked. There had been rumors that the government had handed out weapons shortly before its fall, but these seemed false, at least here.
