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asked.
    Graham knew Pemrose well. The councilman had been a political force on the southside for years and Bridges listened to him.
     Pemrose usually asked the first question.
    Bridges shook his head. “How do these monsters always get in? Some collaborator sneaked them or their bomb on to the tanker.
     I don't know, Jake. The important thing is that this attack provides a new opportunity for our campaign. We've got to address
     this problem immediately.”
    “we can hit the noon news if we come out of this meeting with a statement,” Graham interjected. “Let's do it.”
    Bridges stood up with a laser pen in his hand. His suspenders did little to hide his protruding stomach. Bridges lived through
     his earlier years as a man with great political promise. While his “great hope” had not yet turned into a presidency, at fifty-five
     he had developed a broad and powerful constituency in Illinois. They years had proved significant, but his body slid downhill.
     He couldn't do much about the belly, but Bridges was desperately looking for a new, broader power base.
    Graham looked around the room once more. Nothing had changed in how these men looked, acted, or thought since the night multitudes
     of people disappeared. Life went on like any other day, but the truth was they were terrified to look at the subject in anything
     more than a passing way. Keeping the upper lip stiff was the style of people like Pemrose and Bridges.
    “I've already give this problem some thought while coming down here this morning.” Bridges started transmitting an electronic
     message to the board with his laser pen.
    “Terrorist attacks aren't new,” Graham said. “Are you sure an explosion on the Pacific coast will affect Chicagoans?”
    “We may not be a big time port city, but Lake Michigan has plenty of shipping,” Bridges answered. “Our city is also a major
     rail and transportation hub.”
    Graham nodded. “But I keep thinking about the poverty problems floating around this very building,”
    “Don't stop with thought, Graham. We're simply making hay out of today's big explosion in California. It's momentary, but
     an opportunity.”
    Graham smiled. He wasn't going to make any points on his favorite issues. Drop it
    “Here's my plan! Open a twenty-four-hour center in downtown Chicago to receive reports on possible terrorist activity. Tie
     the telephone into the 911 lines and it wouldn't cost the city an additional cent, but it would give people a point of contact.
     The entire metroplex will be wired People would think they're getting something, but it's really nothing Slick, huh?”
    The men around the table gave their approval.
    “We've had surveillance for a long time, but I'd propose to increase the number of cameras. Sort of like sticking ‘The Eye’
     in everything from the kitchen to the garage. At the least, people would think we had them covered.”
    “This will at least create the illusion espionage control,” Jack Stratton said. “Who knows? Someone call in a tip that could
     make a difference.”
    “We're still going to need some federal funding,” Graham argued.
    “Good point.” Bridged kept flashing the laser pen images on the board without turning around. “Makes my point number three.
     We need to request federal funding for the acquisition of new protective gear.”
    Graham leaned back in his chair. Bridges was the master of reaction, like a fox watching a hen house and then attacking after
     the last chicken waddled out into the barnyard. Many of his ideas didn't amount to much, but they sounded good in the newspapers.
     He was a man who created images, and what people voted for these days was illusions, not substance.
    Bridges bounced his pen up and down in his hand. “I've got one final point. People need assurances that we won't allow a runway
     epidemic to sweep the city.” The mayor looked straight at Graham. “What do you think, Peck?”
    “I thought our health agencies already provided