The Cyclops Initiative Read Online Free PDF Page B

overseas,” one of the civilian directors insisted. “It’s going to make it impossible for our ­people on the ground to—­”
    â€œWe can afford to lose some human assets,” the CIA director insisted, “if it means flushing these assholes out of hiding; I’m willing to sacrifice as much as half of my—­”
    â€œYou’re talking about mobilizing every Special Forces group,” an army general shouted, “right at the worst possible time, when things in Syria are going to hell and we need more ­people than ever in Yemen—­”
    â€œAh,” someone said, a quiet sound in the furor. “If I may.” No one paid any attention.
    Nobody except the SecDef. He turned and looked straight at Rupert Hollingshead.
    Little by little the noise dropped away. ­People noticed that Norton had switched focus, and they decided they needed to know why.
    Hollingshead leaned back in his chair and cleaned his glasses with a pocket handkerchief. He made a flourish of the cloth, then stuffed it back in his breast pocket while we waited for the room to quiet down so he could be heard.
    â€œRupert?” Norton asked. “You have something?”
    â€œI am hearing,” Hollingshead said, rising creakily to his feet, “a lot of sabers being rattled just now. A lot of ­people who wish to go and find and lynch every known terrorist just in case one of them was responsible.”
    He smiled. It was his warmest, most genial smile, and Chapel knew it was one hundred percent fake. “Understandable, of course.”
    â€œClearly you disagree with that plan,” Norton said.
    Hollingshead gave a contrite shrug. “I think it may be presumptive. A tad.” He walked across the room, over to the screen that still showed dust billowing around cargo containers, as if he’d noticed something there. He blinked through his spectacles at the image. “Since, after all, this was not a terrorist attack.”
    FORT BELVOIR, VA: MARCH 21, 09:49
    The CIA director actually started laughing.
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” the NSA director shouted. “Of course it is! Somebody hit us, some cowardly bastard who—­”
    Hollingshead lifted his hands in the air as if in surrender. Chapel knew his boss was just getting started, though. “Please. Just hear me out. We few, gathered here today, have been preparing for something like this ever since 2001. We have lost a great deal of collective sleep over the possibility of a dirty bomb attack. In all our scenarios and projections we imagined this as the worst possible way for terrorists to strike at us. And so we built up our defenses against such a thing. We organized all our efforts toward preventing any terrorist group getting their hands on nuclear material. But that’s just it, isn’t it? When one is in possession of a, um, hammer, well, every threat looks exactly like a nail.”
    Norton’s brow furrowed. “Rupert, if you could get to the point soon, I’d appreciate it.”
    Hollingshead smiled and even elicited a few sympathetic chuckles from the crowd. They weren’t quite enough to balance the glares he was getting from the CIA and NSA directors.
    â€œVery well. I’ll give you three points, in fact. One. A terrorist attacks a public target. A visible target. Ms. Foster,” he said, turning to the woman who’d given the initial briefing, “have the gentlemen of the press been allowed into the port facility since the attack?”
    Foster looked terrified at being called on. “No,” she said, “not . . . not as such. There have been some reporters out there—­they saw the plume of dust—­but they don’t know any details. The port’s security ­people told them it was a hazardous materials situation, but that was all. No specific facts.”
    Hollingshead nodded. “Very well done. Best we