Detective Danny Cavanaugh 01 - The Brink

streets on the relatively short trip to the Capitol. The driver stopped in front of the Capitol Visitor Center’s entrance, where a throng of reporters immediately swarmed the vehicle.
    “No comment is your answer to everything until further notice,” Simon told Danny.
    “Got it,” Danny replied.
    They got out of the Suburban. Simon kept a smile on his silent lips as he hustled past the reporters and through the revolving door. Although it was only steps to the relative peace inside the center, the reporters managed to fire several questions at Danny about the smuggling case, about Rafael Espinoza, and about killing Crayton Ripley. Danny wanted to scream, “I’m an innocent man! Leave me the fuck alone,” but he followed Shilling’s advice and spoke two words through a forced smile.
    “No comment.”
    Minutes later, Simon was leading Danny down to his seat for the evening. It was on the front row of the mezzanine overlooking the floor of the House of Representatives.
    “You need anything before I leave you, Sergeant?”
    Danny looked around. Most of the seats around him were still empty. “Actually, yes.” He leaned toward Shilling and lowered his voice. “What’d y’all find in the capitol tunnels?”
    Simon squinted at him. “What did the FBI agents tell you when you asked them?”
    “How did you know …?” Danny knowingly stopped before finishing his statement. Simon Shilling probably knew about some things before they even happened. “Don’t you think your hero has the right to know?”
    Simon looked around before leaning into Danny. “You don’t like surprises, do you, Sergeant?”
    “I’ve had enough to last a lifetime.”
    Simon laughed. “The president is going to divulge that information to the American people tonight as a reminder that we live in a new age where caution and vigilance are the watchwords.”
    “Where is the president?”
    “He’s giving the speech to Simon in the Senate chambers one last time.”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “Every speech the president has ever made, he’s given it to his son before the public hears it, for luck.”
    Goosebumps wicked across Danny’s skin. Jack Butcher still talks to his dead son. He immediately wished his dad had loved him that much instead of leaving him to flounder through life wondering why he chose to kill himself.
    Suddenly, a face caught Danny’s attention from the House floor. “There’s Dexter Walsh,” he exclaimed before realizing the volume of his voice.
    Simon turned and looked at the Fed chairman as he shook a few hands on his way toward the front row. “In the flesh.”
    Danny ratcheted his voice down to a whisper. “But what Sydney told you about him … why the hell isn’t he in a jail cell?”
    Simon gripped Danny’s shoulder as he gazed into his eyes. “Sergeant, with your years of service in law enforcement, you should know by now that timing is everything. Especially when it comes to office politics.” Simon stayed silent for a long while, his eyes never wavering from Danny’s. It was like he was trying to put him in a trance.
    “So, you’re saying that this isn’t the right time to start an investigation on him?”
    Simon nodded. “It would take steam away from the president’s message tonight. But make no mistake that Dexter Walsh will get his. Trust me.” Simon patted Danny’s shoulder again. “Just try to sit back and enjoy the night. Like I said, from now on you’ve got a clean slate.” He turned and vaulted up the stairs before Danny could ask him any more questions.
    Danny watched as the House floor began filling up with representatives, senators, their minions, and media people. He should have been relaxing, waiting to be exonerated by the president of the United States. But all he could think about was what happened underneath L’Enfant Plaza.
    “The president is going to divulge that information to the American people tonight as a reminder that we live in a new age where caution and vigilance are the watchwords.”
    Danny couldn’t wait to hear what Jack Butcher had in store for everyone.

Chapter 97
    An unusually chilly breeze for this time of year wandered across the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Stefan Taber, prepared as usual, tucked the lapel of his suede barn jacket up against his chin as he checked his watch. He considered the sky behind him. The setting sun melted the blue sky into intermittent bands of purple and pink.
    Tourists clad in thin jackets and comfortable