Drone Games (26 page)

US No-Fly Zone, Day 2

Wednesday, May 20

THE NEW YORK Stock Exchange had suspended all trading until some semblance of calm could be restored. Unfortunately, no one on its Board of Directors knew what that meant. They were simply trying to stop the largest volume stock loss in US history, surpassing the previous record set in October 1987 when one
trillion
dollars evaporated into thin air.

Even the sophisticated computer programs put in place to buffer such tsunami-like selling were overwhelmed. The current trading curbs, a.k.a. “circuit breakers,” called for an hour-long pause in trading at a drop of 1,450 points in the Dow before 2:00 p.m. Eastern time. A decline of 2,900 points before 1:00 p.m. halted trading for two hours. A decline of 4,350 at any point halted trading for the day. Before the president’s announcement, the skittish Dow had lost 1,600 points. The market reopened three hours later but quickly closed again as declines approached a record free fall of 33 percent. Worse, none of the usual liquidity rescuers were forthcoming. They were still trying to digest thirty-day market bottom forecasts flirting with losses of
six
trillion dollars.

Precious metal current and future orders skyrocketed.

—

Milwaukee, WI

Courtyard Marriott

7:00 a.m.

JACK RILEY didn’t follow the financial chaos. He was too busy trying to manage his own. He knew the sword of Damocles was hanging over Homeland Security’s head—no, that was a dodge. It was
his
head. With his appointment, he immediately ordered the NTSB and the FBI to maintain a central investigation point in Milwaukee. That way, they could all track this mysterious bomber-terrorist on the first of two trails. Per the president’s directive, Riley needed to reinforce the fact that, in no uncertain terms, he was in charge. Not the FBI, not FEMA, not state or local authorities, and certainly not the NTSB. It came down to him, period. Riley believed that a good leader should use methodical means and feather ruffling, especially with investigative legwork. Criminal science and theory were fine, but nothing could beat the kind of information a tough, smart cop could squeeze from witnesses and suspects.

The government had commandeered nearly the entire hotel, and Riley had a suite transformed into his personal workspace. With respect to décor, he ordered that a 20 x 24 inch framed photograph be brought in from his Washington office. Captured off Duck Key, it was a photo of the ocean’s glass-like surface at slack tide. He had been about to snap the sunset when something made a noise on the side of the boat. A tail-flapping, taunting noise. When he peered into the water, he saw Shaitan looking up at him in some sort of direct challenge. The photo clearly showed the size and ugliness of the monster—complete with its gaping, hook-lined mouth. Each time Riley looked at his nemesis, it renewed his determination to have the ultimate fish fry.

Riley’s cell phone chirped.

“Jack, I just want to recommit my support,” Secretary Bridge’s voice said. “If you need anything from any department or agency within the US Government, you’ve got it. If anyone balks or says the word
no
, then I want a phone call, understood?”

“Sir, I’m still not convinced that I’m the right person for this. I don’t think that the president realizes what’s involved. I’m not exactly comfortable telling seasoned federal agents how and when to do their jobs. The FBI is funny that way.”

“Since when is Jack Riley uncomfortable with anything?” Bridge asked. “Director Colmes was kind enough to suggest a good right-hand man, someone who can help you keep the investigation on track.”

“The investigation or me?”

“Whatever the reasoning, he’s supposed to be one of the Bureau’s best, not to mention you could use a good sounding board. He’s from their Investigative Training Unit at Quantico. But more important, he knows agency politics. His name is David Cheng.”

“We’ve already connected,” Riley said. “He’s agreed to head up the ground investigation in Milwaukee.”

“You’ll do fine, Jack. Use your instincts.”

“I still don’t understand why the president wants Homeland Security in charge of such a high-profile investigation. I can name at least a dozen senior FBI people who could handle it. I’m missing something.”

“Precisely because you
are
Homeland Security,” Bridge answered. “The president wants to show the country and the world how effective his administration can be in combating terror on America’s soil. He has the utmost faith in you because of your outstanding qualifications. He’s told me more than once that he likes you, and—”

“I don’t buy that,” Riley interrupted the patronizing. “Tell me the truth.”

There was silence. “It’s a prelude.”

“A prelude to what?”

“Consolidation.”

Riley shifted the phone. “I’m not following.”

“Jack, remember Hurricane Katrina? What were the lessons we learned?”

“Not to build cities below sea level,” he answered flatly.

“I mean relative to the federal government’s structure and culture, particularly in a national crisis. We exposed the worst of ourselves, and I want to see if you agree.”

“If you’re talking about selective response and rescue based on ethnicity or race, then I don’t agree.”

“Jack, no informed person believes that. It’s bureaucracy. We showed the world how miserable we were at coordinating and communicating with our own internal agencies. As a direct result of that exposed failure, the president developed a plan that will shake the federal government to its foundations. It’ll involve the largest single reorganization in US government history. Agencies that have existed for over a hundred years will be eliminated, and their functions will be merged. The code name for the new singularity is DNS, Department of National Security. Anyone in the federal government who carries a weapon, investigates a crime, or defends our nation against an enemy or threat will be impacted. And by the way, threats include man-made terrorist acts and natural disasters like hurricanes.

“During Katrina, FEMA and especially Homeland Security looked like bumbling idiots. The media filmed human horrors that we never knew existed. While people were literally dying in the streets, our fire and rescue teams were sitting in diversity sensitivity meetings. We don’t want anyone to put us through that kind of embarrassment again.

“Your appointment on this case is simply a prelude. The president wants to use the outcome of your actions—the
successful
outcome—to serve as a showcase on how multiple agencies can and should work together permanently, not just during a crisis. In other words, it’s a working model that paves the way for interagency cooperation.”

“You mean kills it,” Riley said.

“That’s a true statement, Jack. There won’t
be
interagencies. They’ll all be the same organization.”

Riley shook his head. Senior government managers were always reorganizing something. All federal law enforcement personnel working in one seamless entity? It made too much sense. It also placed an even greater burden on him and his investigation. He didn’t like being a public guinea pig. He knew what was coming next. He even mouthed the words.

“Do you have any leads?” Bridge asked. “Anything at all?”

“No, sir. The FBI . . . er, my teams are still forming up here.”

“What about resources? Do you need any more bod—?”

“Thank you, but we have enough people. I’m about to have a kickoff session. We’ll be covering every possible avenue.”

“Do you need anything? Anything at all?”

Riley paused. “I want someone from NTSB on my lead team. I wanted you to know up front in case it causes any problems over there.”

“It won’t,” Bridge assured. He didn’t know Tom Ross, but it didn’t matter. “What else?”

Riley took a deep breath. “I need to bring someone from the media inside. A reporter.” He held the phone away from his ear.

There was extended silence. “For what reason?”

Riley explained.

“Good thinking, Jack,” Bridge agreed. “Is that all?”

“If you said a few introductory words to my teams, it might help reinforce the fact that we’re in charge of this thing and not the FBI.”

“You can handle it. I like your idea of splitting things by airport, but I still want all reporting to come through you.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep you informed. There is one more thing. I’m curious about the president’s singularity plan. What happens to the military?”

“Simple. The first and foremost question that will determine if you belong in the Department of National Security is . . . do you carry a weapon? Obviously, the answer is yes. All four branches of the military will integrate. Common commanders, common bases, perhaps even common uniforms. Everything is on the table. I’ll bring you up to speed on some other facets, but we need to get through this first. Good luck, Jack.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“That’s my boy.” Bridge clicked off. He was under as much pressure as Riley, if not more.

Riley collected a set of papers.
The Department of National Security,
he thought, smirking.
The president has gone crazy
.

For a moment, Riley actually felt equal measures of calm and confidence. Then something slapped the back of his head. It was a wakeup slap given by someone who wanted his full attention. His father, Robert Jackson Riley, had passed away five years ago. A high school business-education teacher and wrestling coach, Robert had left an indelible mark. Though he was a stern disciplinarian, the rap to his son’s head wasn’t meant to hurt; it was meant to remind.

Don’t let anyone ever call you “boy.
”

Riley walked into an adjoining room where the Homeland Security and FBI senior team leads were seated. A simulcast teleconference on an eighty-inch flat screen linked the room with an FBI site at the Hilton next to O’Hare’s main terminals.

Riley spoke into the camera. “Good morning. I don’t need to remind everyone that the president and America are depending on us to make a rapid impact in finding the perpetrator or perpetrators who committed these vicious acts. To say that we’re in the spotlight is an asinine understatement. I’ll reiterate what Secretary Bridge told me a few moments ago: if you or any of your agents encounter resistance from either a private or a governmental jurisdiction, I want to know. And I mean that. You can contact me anytime, day or night, with anything of interest or relevance, or to report roadblocks to these investigations. With respect to chain of command, my personal likes and dislikes, and my leadership style, let me say that I hold each of you and your people in the highest professional regard. I expect progress, and I like to see things for myself. Be advised: I will take a hands-on approach. That simply means I’ll be on-site whenever I can. I dislike weasels, blamers, excessive paperwork, good ol’ boy cliques, and people who don’t take responsibility. And if you ever lie to me, I’ll throw you out on your tail. I expect cooperative teamwork. Special Agent Cheng will cover for me when I’m unavailable. Treat him as you would me.

“One more thing regarding my position here before we get started. The president appointed me, and I realize that it may rub some of you the wrong way. I have one thing to say about that: this is an interagency mission, so get over it. It’s not about you or me or careers; it’s about freedom. Whoever committed these crimes will be found and brought to justice. I will work tirelessly for this country, and I expect that same energy and ethic from you. That said, let me share our strategy.”

Tom Ross entered the room. Riley whispered a few words before continuing.

“I expect each of you to read and become fully aware of the tactics used in the 2006 London transatlantic aviation terror cell operation. It includes twenty-one background dossiers and the types of accelerants they planned to use to destroy ten aircraft. London’s Anti-Terror Branch calls it a summary, but it’s still four hundred pages. Pay special attention to sections ten and eleven, ‘In-Flight Pre-Detonation Placements’ and ‘Explosive Containers.’ The summary is a separate and accessible module that has been added to your Virtual Case File Network. And speaking of virtual, we’re going to establish coverage zones for the Mitchell International and O’Hare Airports respectively and then assign teams. The first zone is the inside perimeter. Both Delta and United’s CEOs have personally assured me of total cooperation from their employees. Let’s start with Mitchell’s team structures. Checked baggage. I want a face matched to every piece. Who’s reviewing security videos?”

“I am,” FBI agent Derrick Gale spoke up from across the room. “We already have Mitchell’s tapes. I’ll have O’Hare’s by this afternoon.”

“Who’s handling carry-ons?”

“Will Clark.”

“Perimeter security?”

“Nelson Bennett.”

“Customer service personnel?”

“That’d be Agent Cortez. His teams are covering rampers, agents, baggage tugs, wing walkers, fuelers, and caterers. If he needs help, my people can assist.”

“Good.” Riley nodded and returned to his list. “Anyone else?”

“Mechanics.”

Riley thumbed through a Delta contact list. “John Louter, VP of Maintenance Operations. Has anyone contacted him?”