Detective Danny Cavanaugh 01 - The Brink

boats, anything less than 40 feet, so no marina worker had interacted with the assailant before he started his mission. The only fingerprints on the boat had matched those of the rightful owner, his family and friends. The shoulder fired missile launcher, which had been found at the bottom of the Potomac River, was garden variety military issue, the kind that was bought and sold on the black market everyday.
    Danny pictured the assailant, throttling away from the marina, smiling in the wind on the way to complete his task at hand. Whoever he was, he was hired to pull this job. But who hired him?
    Danny had to switch gears and concentrate on his new task. He looked inside the station manager’s booth. It was empty. He tried the knob. It was locked. He cupped his hands to the glass and peered inside. He was greeted with the strange sight of Post-It notes everywhere. It reminded him of one of those promotional booths that blew money around as the person inside frantically grabbed for every dollar.
    “Can I help you?”
    Danny spun around to see a black man with mostly gray hair and a wrinkled face standing in front of him. The nametag on his uniform read, “Luther Smalls, Station Manager.”
    “Luther, I’m Sergeant Danny Cavanaugh with the Texas Rangers.” Danny paused. It was good to hear that title flow from his mouth again. “I believe you just got a phone call from the White House …”
    Luther held up his hand. “Say no more. I was told to be an open book for you, Sergeant.”
    Luther extended the key ring from his belt and inserted a key into the booth’s lock. He unlocked it and let the retractable tether yank the ring back to the side of his thick waist.
    “After you,” Luther told his guest.
    Danny immediately crossed the booth to the bank of small monitors that helped Luther keep tabs on various locations around the station. Luther took a load off on a rickety stool in front of the radio equipment. He crossed his arms on his chest. The look in his eyes told Danny that he remained tight-lipped to strangers, especially ones who would question the manner in which he performed his job.
    “Were you working when the station was gassed?” Danny asked.
    “Yup,” Luther replied.
    “Did you see anything unusual at that time?”
    “You mean other than a yellow fog?”
    “Did you get a look at anyone who was acting suspicious? Did you see anything that was not part of the normal day-to-day scene?”
    “They already asked me these questions, Sergeant.”
    “Who did?”
    “FBI and TSA.” The noise of an approaching train on the lower level caused Luther’s eyes to wander over to the bank of monitors. “I didn’t see anything unusual.”
    “What’s with the Post-It notes everywhere, Luther?”
    Luther’s eyes darted back to Danny. “They’re for training purposes. But I have to admit, they’re cluttering up my sea of tranquility here.”
    “Training for whom?”
    “Training for my replacement. I’m retiring after thirty-four years of faithful service.”
    “Congratulations.”
    Luther huffed. It was obviously forced retirement. That was Danny’s hook. He would make the old man feel useful, something he probably hadn’t felt in a long time.
    “Listen Luther, I’m going to be honest with you here. I was told by the president himself not to tell you this, but my instincts tell me otherwise.” Luther’s eyes came alive. He straightened up on the stool. Just like that, Danny had him. “We think that the gas attack was really a diversion to deliver a nuclear device, or perhaps several nukes, underneath the city. I need you to think like a terrorist. If you were trying to do that, where in this station would be the best place to hide the device without it being detected?”
    Luther searched his thoughts. He looked over at the monitors. Then he stood up and peered out the dull window that gave him a full view of the station’s upper mezzanine. His stare lasted for nearly a half minute before he moved a muscle. He reached behind Danny, grabbed a rolled-up blueprint, and unrolled it across the radio equipment.
    Luther craned his neck around and smiled. “I hope you don’t mind getting dirty, Sergeant.”
    -
    While Danny and Luther studied the blueprints in the station manager’s booth, a handful of well-trained men tensed in their tight quarters underneath L’Enfant Plaza as the echo of radio squelch bounced around them. Instantly, they all knew the same thing. Something was