Chapter 17GL sat across from Jerry Bruton in the smoking room of the City Tavern Club, just off Wisconsin Avenue in the elite district of Georgetown. Bruton had flown in again that morning from the BUGSY headquarters in Oakland, California. They had enjoyed their lunch conversation – half gossip, half business – and now they were waiting for the coffee to arrive.
‘Tell me, GL, why do you think 9/11 happened?’
The question came from nowhere, and it stopped GL’s glass of water halfway to his lips. Bruton seemed not to notice, and he didn’t wait for an answer.
‘You know, I was thinking about it the other day – what in hell’s name did we do to deserve 9/11? Everyone talks about the evils of Islamic terrorism, the horrors inflicted on Western democracies in the name of Mohammed. But people d
