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possible?
    “So he sends you off to Minnesota to appease his friend the governor,” Gwen said. “You. When there’s probably someone there in the Minneapolis field office.”
    “Gwen.” Maggie bit her lower lip. She wanted to tell her to stop. This wasn’t something to discuss with or in front of Ben and Julia, or even Tully.
    “It’s just not right.”
    The sudden volume of the TV drew all their attention as Tully pointed and punched until it was loud enough to hear the FOX news alert:
    “There have been reports of a possible explosion from inside Mall of America,” an unseen voice announced while on the screen a bird’s-eye view appeared of the expansive mall. It was, perhaps, stock film since the parking lot was not full and the trees had green leaves.
    “911 operators have experienced a flood of calls,” the disembodied voice continued. “Emergency personnel, as well as our news helicopter, are on their way so we have no details as of this moment.
    “We can tell you that Mall of America is the largest mall in America. More than 150,000 shoppers were expected to visit the mall today, traditionally called Black Friday, the busiest shopping day of the year.”
    Inside Maggie’s great room there was silence. No more accusations. No more questions. No more arguments.
    Ben crossed his arms as he stood beside her, shifting his weight only slightly so that his shoulder brushed against Maggie.
    “Forget the politics,” he said calmly, quietly, an obvious attempt to reassure her. “Just go do what you do best.”
    Before Maggie could respond or ask what he meant, he added, “Go get these bastards.”

CHAPTER
7
     
    Mall of America
     
    “W e’ve got a problem,” Asante growled into his wireless headset. He avoided people in the parking lot, some standing in the frigid cold just staring while others ran to their vehicles.
    “What’s the problem?”
    Asante could barely hear the response.
    “We’ve got one carrier still on the move.”
    There was silence and Asante thought perhaps the connection had faded out.
    “How is that possible?” came the reply.
    “You tell me.”
    “There were three blasts. No one could survive that.”
    “You watched them?” Asante asked with careful accusation.
    “Of course.” But the conviction wavered against the hint of Asante’s irritation.
    “You saw each one?”
    “Yes. I saw all three arrive in the food court area.” Hesitation, then the admission. “Carrier #3 brought two friends along. I didn’t think it was a problem.”
    Asante stayed silent when he wanted to remind his point man that he didn’t get paid to think. No matter how willing, no matter how capable they appeared to be, Asante had learned to trust no one but himself. It was a tough lesson he had learned long before Oklahoma City, one that had taught him to always, always have cutaways like McVeigh and Nichols for each and every project no matter how small or large.
    “I’m headed back in.”
    More silence. Asante knew exactly what the man was thinking. You must be insane. But of course, he wouldn’t dare question the Project Manager.
    “What do you want me to do?” The question came quietly, hesitantly and probably with the hope that Asante would not request that he accompany him.
    “Find out who those other two are.” He could almost hear the other man’s relief.
    Asante continued, making his way through the cold and the snow to the back of the mall, toward the same exit he had used earlier to flee. Before he’d left the sanctuary of his getaway car, he’d exchanged his Carolina Panthers baseball cap for a navy blue cap with PARAMEDIC embroidered on the front. He’d also changed his jogging shoes for a pair of hiking boots. On purpose the boots were three sizes too large for him. A shoeprint could be as incriminating as a fingerprint and in the snow the print might be well preserved. He had already prepared the boots with socks in the toes, making them a comfortable enough fit that