Detective Danny Cavanaugh 01 - The Brink

Jack Butcher was holding court before he was scheduled to leave could only mean one thing. Something unplanned had arisen; rather, something else unplanned had arisen. The attack on the L’Enfant Plaza Metro station was certainly news to the world that morning. Jack thought about canceling the rest of his day and then decided against it. He had already given an impromptu briefing from the White House Press Room less than an hour after it happened. It was now two hours later, and he was confident that the right people were in place, doing what they did best to find out what exactly was going on. Plus, his visitors had traveled a long way for their moment with the president, and Jack was not about to disappoint them.
    Vanessa was a fifty-five-year-old mother of two. She wasn’t an especially attractive woman, but she was catching some of the eyes in the Diplomatic Reception Room as she clipped along the back wall in a bright red dress. Jack nodded to her, recognizing his need to wrap up things. She perched herself in a shadowy corner and waited.
    President Butcher was hosting a short reception to congratulate Boy Scout Troop 30 from Little Rock, Arkansas, on being named Troop of the Year. Being a former Boy Scout himself, Jack picked this room when Vanessa approached him with the idea for the meet and greet nearly a month ago. He knew the story that unfolded on the walls of this room better than any other venue in the White House.
    “Gentlemen,” Jack addressed the young men over the continuous sound of clicking cameras. “The thirty-two scenes you see before you are based on engravings of American landscapes from the 1820s. Here we have the Natural Bridge of Virginia, Niagara Falls, New York Bay, West Point, and Boston Harbor.” Jack paused to let the Scouts admire the artwork. It reminded him to astonish them with another tidbit of knowledge that had remained in his brain after his own initial tour of this room. “If we ever need to make repairs to this room, we can take these scenes down.” Jack encouraged the Scouts to get closer to the wall. “You’d never know it, but this is all just wallpaper. The artists used wooden blocks to print on the wallpaper panels. A pretty good idea for 1834, huh?”
    “Mr. President?”
    Jack turned to the pudgy, freckle-faced boy at the end of the line. “Yes, sir?”
    “Can I ask you a question, sir?”
    “Well, since you’re one of my bosses, sure you can.” Jack made sure not to take his eyes off the boy, even though he heard chuckles coming from the reporters and cameramen. He never just played to the crowd.
    “Are we safe?”
    The question caught Jack off guard. He was expecting something about the room or the mural on the wall. But he never flinched, never stammered, never showed for one second that Jack Butcher wasn’t prepared to handle anything that came his way.
    “Of course, son. The White House is actually a working military fort. It is the safest place in the nation, probably in the entire world.”
    “No sir,” the boy continued nervously. He was gripping his pant legs so tight that the cuffs had risen two inches off the tops of his sneakers. His cheeks were burning red. “I mean the country. I-Is the country safe?”
    A new wave of camera snaps crashed in Jack’s ears. He pictured Brian Williams on NBC Nightly News talking about the president’s reaction to this little boy’s question. The consensus among his advisers was to scrap the Scout meeting and concentrate on the attack. But Jack wouldn’t do it. He had to set an example for the country. But was this the right example? Holding court for a small group of over-privileged kids while Washington, D.C. was on high alert and the rest of the country was anxiously watching?
    Are we safe?
    “What’s your name, son?” Jack asked the boy.
    “Connor, sir.”
    “Connor, do you know the old saying safety in numbers?” Connor nodded. “That’s something that each one of us needs to remember. To ensure the safety of this country, you, me, all these reporters in here, your mom and dad, my so …” Jack stumbled for only a moment. He quelled the emotion welling in his gut and continued. “Your teachers, our friends, your scoutmaster, my colleagues, your aunts and uncles and grandparents and all of the citizens of the United States need to make awareness a part of our daily routine. If something doesn’t look right, tell someone. If someone is doing something that we know is wrong, report it.