Detective Danny Cavanaugh 01 - The Brink

We can’t sit back and expect our government, with its ignored color-code terror alert system and bloated bureaucracy, to keep an entire country of more than three hundred million people constantly safe. We must depend on each other.” Jack paused to let his words sink into every person in the room. “Does that seem like a reasonable request, Connor?”
    The boy was stunned. He remained silent, as the cameras continued snapping away. Jack was about to continue when Connor broke from his daze.
    “Yes, sir. I totally agree.”
    Jack walked over to him, squatted, and lowered his voice. “I know you’re scared, Connor. We all get scared sometimes. Even presidents. But we can’t stop living. Because that’s what the terrorists want. They want us to stop living. They want us to seize up with fear. We can’t do that, Connor. We need to continue to spend time with our families, to hang out with our friends, and to work hard at school and at our jobs. We need to watch each other’s back harder than ever, Connor. But we need to keep living our lives.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vanessa approaching him. Apparently whatever she had come in to tell him couldn’t wait any longer. He stood up and edged a few steps away from Connor to receive her.
    “They found the sources of the gas at L’Enfant Plaza,” Vanessa whispered in his ear.
    “And?” Jack whispered back to her.
    Vanessa rolled her eyes back and forth, suggesting that this may not be the right time for this information.
    Jack stared at her. She leaned into his ear again.
    “Recycling bins on each level. We got confirmation that it was sarin with traces of hydrogen and cyanide. So far, no deaths. Just injuries from the panic.”
    They made eye contact once again, and Jack nodded at her. She continued. “Simon’s waiting for you in the Oval. Harry Tharp’s with him.”
    Harry Tharp. No one was close enough to hear them, but Jack was paranoid about the devices reporters had these days that could pick up hushed conversations. He bit his lip to keep from making a comment.
    Jack nodded at her once more, and Vanessa left the room. He spent another two minutes for a couple group shots with the Scouts and then he was off to the next task on his never-ending to-do list.

Chapter 15
    “Gentlemen, long time no see,” Jack said as he entered the Oval Office. It may have sounded like a joke, but the president was not in a joking mood. It had been less than an hour since Simon Shilling, Harry Tharp, and the president were seated around the Situation Room conference table surrounded by the joint chiefs and other military and anti-terrorist strategists. He shook their hands and motioned for both men to sit. They sat on the opposite couches that flanked the coffee table. Jack took his usual spot in the JFK rocker.
    “Sorry for the delay. I had a photo op with some Boy Scouts who have been waiting for months to meet their new president.”
    “No worries, Mr. President. You need to spend some time with your own kind once in a while,” Simon said, grinning.
    Jack eyed Simon. If Jack Butcher was the all-American boy, the good-looking, gregarious, high school quarterback, then Simon Shilling was his complete antithesis. Although Simon wore his signature bowties and owlish horn-rim glasses every day, he was Bill Gates geeky. Middle age and what seemed like a new nationwide respect for eggheads had finally allowed Simon’s concave body and pensive features to appear cool. Simon had taken the liberty to remember everything about Jack’s life like it was his own. He also took the liberty to remind Jack of it every so often.
    Jack crossed his legs and eased back in the rocker. “Spending time with the kids sends the message to the nation and to whoever attacked us that we are not going to be deterred from living our lives because of a—”
    “Disruption?” Harry Tharp finished. Harry was the current secretary of homeland security and the former director of FEMA. He was a numbers guy, whose personality reflected his love of math over his fellow man.
    “I was going to say ‘an unmitigated act of barbarism,’ but disruption may work,” Jack replied. He glanced at Simon, who was scribbling some notes on a legal pad.
    “Vanessa said that it was sarin gas but that it was mixed with hydrogen and cyanide. Accurate?” Jack asked Harry.
    “Yes, sir,” Harry replied. He took out a piece of paper from his portfolio and handed it to Jack. It was a schematic of