advertising and recruitment, but the juiciest details would be off the grid.
Sure enough, what Merrit showed him was a box full of three-ring binders, spiral notebooks, and frayed blueprints.
“This looks like it was their next target,” Merrit said.
Jack nodded. “I know they were planning on building a cyanide bomb and driving it into Washington—”
“No, sir,” Merrit interrupted. “We found that plan all right. It’s over there.” The agent jabbed a thumb over to another box being tagged by one of the investigators. “This is something else.” He held out a notebook, but Jack didn’t touch it—he’d taken off his
gloves.
“Tell me.”
Merrit opened the notebook. “According to this, the militia was tracking some kind of Islamic terrorist cell inside the country.”
Jack felt something cold grope the inside of his stomach. “What terrorist cell?”
“I don’t know—”
“Where is it located?”
“That’s what I wanted you to see,” Merrit said. “It’s here in Los Angeles. And if these notes are right, these Islamic terrorists are going to make an attack. In the next few hours.”
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17
18 19 20 21 22 23 24
THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLAC E
BETWEEN THE HOURS OF
4 A.M. AND 5 A.M.
PACIFIC STANDARD TIME
4:00 A . M . PST San Francisco, California
The phone on Senator Debrah Drexler’s nightstand rang with a sense of urgency. Despite the early hour, the Senator picked it up before it rang a second time. She was still on East Coast time and she’d been awake for an hour.
“Drexler.” Her voice was like the crack of a whip. She had spoken in softer tones, once upon a time, but one abusive marriage and two terms in the United States Senate had covered her softer side in armor.
“Senator Drexler, thank you for taking my call.”
Drexler curled her lip at the mere sound of that voice. “Not at all, Mr. Attorney General. What can I do for you?”
There was a pause on the line. The faint electric hiss of fiber optics and electricity sounded somehow ominous. Finally, Attorney General James Quincy said, “You and I both know what you can do for me. For the country.”
“I work on behalf of my country every day, Mr. At torney General. And it’s early. You’ll have to be more specific.”
She knew this would irk him. The AG was famous for quick decisions and short conversations. He despised those who wasted time, especially his time. But since he was already quite public about his loathing for the female senator from California, she wasn’t worried about losing points with him.
“Give me your vote on the NAP Act,” he said with his legendary bluntness. “Then I’ll carry Wayans and D’Aquino, and this thing will pass.”
“Sir, are you calling on behalf of the President?” she asked.
“I’m calling on behalf of the country.”
She almost laughed. “Ah, the cheery sound of jingoism in the morning is so pleasant. You should have “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” on in the background when you talk like that.”
Even through the phone line, she could tell that his spine had stiffened at her remarks. “I expect a little more respect than that, Senator. I am the Attorney General of the United States—”
“Then stop acting like a politician,” she snapped. She knew he hated to be interrupted. She’d done the same thing during his nomination hearings, and the press had had a field day with his apoplectic reactions. It almost made her happy he’d been approved, just so she could do it again. “Since when does the Attorney General get on the phone and lobby senators to pass a bill? Use the right wing media like all the other fascists.”
She smiled, waiting for the volcano to erupt. She wasn’t afraid of Quincy’s vesuvian temper. She wasn’t daunted by angry male voices. Her first husband had beaten those weaker tendencies out of her. He’d nearly lost an eye that last time he’d tried to rough her up, and the combination