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ran the viral scan. It took all of five seconds. “You’re set up for voice command,” Mrs. Upton said to him.
        “Thank you,” Michaels said. “Computer, image one, please.”
        A holographic projector in the ceiling clicked on, and a three-dimensional image of the assassination scene, photographed from a police helicopter less than eight hours ago, blossomed in the middle of the table.
        Michaels began to lay it out. The explosion, the attack, the dead and suspected dead. He did it methodically, taking his time. He had the computer show other views as he talked. After ten minutes, he paused and looked around the table. “Any questions so far?”
        “Any other unusual activity regarding federal officials last night?” That from the President. Yes, that was a prudent question. Who might be next?
        “No, sir.”
        “Anybody step forward to claim responsibility, terrorist groups, like that?”
        “No, Mr. President.”
        “Anything on the bombs?” Reed asked.
        “The charge under the manhole cover was a U.S. Army antitank mine, and the explosive’s taggants identified it as part of a batch that supposedly went into the ground in Iraq during the Gulf War. Likely dug up by some farmer with a metal detector and sold on the black market. Or maybe diverted by a quartermaster before it ever got to Iraq. No way to tell at this point.”
        “The limpet on the door was untagged, but our lab says it’s Israeli small-marine surplus, about five years old.”
        “Probably pick up one of those at a good-sized gun show,” Reed said. He smiled to show it was a joke. He sounded nervous, too. Not really afraid, but a little edgy. Understandable.
        Michaels continued: “No prints or DNA dregs on the expended brass, all of which were identical. From the bullets removed from the victims and cars, the ammunition appears to have been factory-loaded Federal 147 gr. 9mm Luger FMJ round-nose, and would have been subsonic from either a pistol or a submachine gun. Extractor marks on the casings show that both types of weapons were used. So far, recovered tags from the gunpowder show the lot numbers to be parts of shipments that went to Chicago, Detroit, Miami and Fort Worth.”
        “Good luck tracing that,” Reed said. “And those guns are probably in the bay by now.”
        “All right, we have the facts, such as they are,” the President said. “How about a theory. Who did it, Mr. Michaels? Who are they going to come after next?”
        “Computer, image twelve,” Michaels said.
        Another holoproj appeared, also from the air, but this one showing a different scene, recorded in daylight.
        “This is an FBI archive image of the scene of the killing of Thomas ‘Big Red’ O’Rourke in New York City last September. The method of attack was remarkably similar. A bomb went off under the Irish mobster’s armored limo, the doors were blown off by limpets, O’Rourke and his bodyguards were killed by multiple rounds from 9mm pistols and submachine guns.”
        “There have been other killings like that, haven’t there?” the President said.
        “Yes, sir. Joseph DiAmmato, of the Dixie Mafia, in New Orleans last December, and Peter Heitzman in Newark this past February. The FBI’s Organized Crime Unit believes the hits were ordered by Ray Genaloni, head of the New York City Five Families, but the investigation is still pending.”
        “Meaning you don’t have anything concrete yet,” Reed said.
        “Nothing a federal prosecutor wants to take into court, no.”
        The President nodded. “So it looks like what we’re talking about here is mob related? Not some kind of terrorist activity?”
        Michaels was careful with his next words. “Sir. At first glance, it would seem a strong possibility.”
        Carver said, “If I may, Alex?”
        Michaels nodded, happy to let his boss take over. He hoped his relief didn’t show too