21
1084 Words
Birdman rose and handed her a card. “If you think of anything else let us know.”
After she left Birdman looked at the other three. “Well?”
“She didn’t add much to what we already knew,” said Herbert.
“What a simpering sot,” snapped Anthony. “I was surprised she didn’t pull her b****y dress up over her fake blonde hair.”
Herbert ignored this barb and said, “Okay, we have gunfire that should have never happened. A bomb that shouldn’t have gone off. And a target that wasn’t even there.”
Birdman’s phone rang. Ten seconds later he clicked off. “Okay, this sucker just got even more complicated. A group in Yemen has claimed responsibility for the attack.”
THE NEXT DAY Herbert WATCHED on TV along with Tom Birdman from the latter’s office as the media reported that a group based in Yemen had opened fire on Lafayette Park and also set off a bomb there. It was done to show that it could reach inside the very heart of the American government. At least that’s what the loose translation of the group’s message released to the Western media had implied. Afterward there was a brief press conference at which the FBI director spoke, and then the ADIC answered a few questions from the media, without really telling them anything at all.
Herbert asked, “Are we sure the Yemen message is authentic?”
Birdman nodded. “Whoever called it in had the proper authorization codes.”
Herbert added, “But that just authenticates the group making the statement. It doesn’t prove they actually did it.”
“That’s true. And they sometimes lie.”
“I don’t suppose they gave any helpful details on how they managed the guns and the bomb right under our noses?” asked Herbert.
“No. What scares the crap out of me is that if they can hit Lafayette Park successfully, what’s next? What place is safe? It’s like they said, it’s symbolic. And you know every American is right now thinking the same thing.”
Herbert said, “And can the terrorists hop across the street and hit the White House?”
Birdman nodded. “That possibility is on the mind of every person in this building.”
“In lots of buildings,” added Herbert.
Birdman said, “Where’s your British sidekick?”
“Not really sure,” said Herbert.
“What’s your take on her?” asked Birdman.
“She’s one of their best or she wouldn’t be involved in this.”
“A good asset for us, then?”
“I think so. Any hits on the jogger, or the suit?”
“None. Unlike Marisa Mr. Green, the images on the video of the guy in the suit weren’t really clear. I’m not surprised no one has recognized him. He was never looking at the cameras. Just was sort of staring at the ground.”
“You think he knew where the cameras were posted?”
“Not even I know where all the cameras are posted,” replied Birdman. “But we did put out a notice to the media outlets for all people in the park that night to come forward. That’s how Mr. Green came in. So I am surprised we haven’t heard from him.”
“Well, we wouldn’t hear from him if he were involved in this somehow,” Herbert pointed out.
Birdman sat down at his desk and fiddled with his stapler. “How close a look did you get at him?”
Herbert searched his mind. “Five-seven, balding, slightly stooped shoulders. Never really saw his face. His skin color might have been more dark than light. Whether that was race, ethnicity or a tan I couldn’t tell. Obviously no turban, kufi or Palestinian keffiyeh. You would have clearly seen that on the video.”
“Your description tallies with what we have of him on the feed.”
“Heard from Agent Garchik?” Herbert asked.
“I’ve been harassing the guy every half hour. He did say he was going to go back out to the park today for some follow-up searching.”
“When exactly was he going back out?” Herbert asked.
“He said this afternoon.”
Herbert rose.
Birdman gazed up at him. “Going somewhere?”
“Running down a few things.”
“And you’ll share whatever you find?”
“I play fair.”
“I looked you up on the official database. But didn’t find anything.”
“I would be surprised if you had.”
“Why?”
“Because officially, I don’t exist.”
THIRTY MINUTES LATER Herbert was back at Lafayette Park. The area was still shut down and security was the tightest he had ever seen, tighter
even than after 9/11. Someone had penetrated the very heart of the national leadership, and in the stunned countenances of the security forces Herbert could sense anger, embarrassment and fear.
He had just reached ground zero when Anthony joined him. She was dressed in black slacks and a matching short jacket that was cut a bit large to accommodate her shoulder holster.
Herbert said, “All female agents I’ve ever met use a belt holster.”
“Is that right? Well, I find I get a quicker pull from the shoulder. And that means I don’t have to stuff my damn g*n in my pantyhose when I’m using the loo. And I have an extra layer of material sewn into my blouses at that spot.”
“Why?”
She gave him a fierce look. “Because I have breasts, Herbert, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Actually, I was trying to remain gender neutral, Agent Anthony.”
“Very PC of you. So Yemen?” said Anthony.
“You believe it?” asked Herbert.
“b****y convenient for some.”
“And your boss?”
“He doesn’t believe much anymore, actually.”
“That comes with age,” noted Herbert. “Agent Garchik is coming here later today to do some follow-up.”
“Follow-up? Didn’t he get enough the first time round for his super-duper debris analyzer?”
“I believe his follow-up means he actually has some concerns.”
“Oliver?”
Herbert immediately turned when he heard the voice. It was distinctive, unforgettable, really. And he hadn’t heard it in a very long time.
“Mrs. Penelope?”
- Writer
