Detective Danny Cavanaugh 01 - The Brink

that can tell us the names of the bastards responsible for this?”
    “We haven’t found anything so far.”
    “Come on, Howard. No DNA or fingerprints? Not even a goddamn cigarette butt to process?”
    “There’s DNA and cigarette butts everywhere, sir. But that’s the problem. Exhaust grates are right on top of the basement. Seventy years’ worth of cigarette butts, gum wrappers, and other scraps of garbage have slipped through those grates and into the basement. To test all that, you’re talking needle in a haystack. Besides, these guys wouldn’t make these specific deliveries and then leave traces of themselves behind. They aren’t that stupid.”
    Simon piped up. “They’re deliberate.”
    Fielding nodded in agreement. “Agents are checking with District officials to determine if there’s been any activity with the city’s archived blueprints for the Mall infrastructure or any of the surrounding area. We’re also reviewing every second of surveillance tape we can get our hands on from every security camera within a ten-block radius of the Lincoln.”
    Jack sighed. “When will we know things?”
    “ASAP, Mr. President.”
    Jack gazed off in the distance and his voice fell. “Thirty feet, Howard.” He shifted his stare to Fielding. “They got within thirty goddamn feet.”
    “I’m sure that was just luck, sir.”
    “Luck?”
    “We’re confident the suspects don’t know about the tunnels. Their choosing the Lincoln basement, it was just—”
    “Coincidence?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “You really believe that?”
    “I believe what the evidence tells me.”
    “The evidence tells me that they delivered a dirty bomb out in the open, to a very public place, to ensure maximum body count. The second bomb was found in a place that’s supposedly off limits thirty feet away from the entrance to a tunnel system that accesses the United States Capitol.”
    “Exactly, Mr. President. Why abandon it under the Lincoln if that’s just your starting point?”
    “You think the Lincoln was their target? Blow it up and make it radioactive, to leave a blemish on the National Mall as a constant reminder?”
    “That’s exactly what I believe, Mr. President.”
    “You ready to bet your job on that?” Simon asked.
    Fielding shot him an angry look. “I would.”
    “What about your life, Howard?” Jack asked. “Would you bet your life?”
    Fielding paused. “We will find out who did this, Mr. President.”
    Silence marinated the room for several seconds, a rarity in an Oval Office meeting. Jack finally rose from his seat. “I think we’re done here, gentlemen. Howard, thanks for coming in.” As if on cue, Vanessa Dempsey knocked once and, not hearing any objections, strode into the Oval with Jack’s stylist in her wake.
    Fifteen minutes later, Jack ordered everyone out of the Oval Office. His collar was still ringed with tissue paper that his stylist used to keep the finishing touches of makeup off his shirt.
    Jack stood next to the door that led out to the portico. Beyond Peter Devon’s mountainous shoulder, he could see the beams from the klieg lights that would be focused on him in a matter of minutes. This was the first time he would have to do some backpedaling, explaining why they used gas leak stories to cover up terrorist attacks. But Jack was sure it wouldn’t be the last.
    Communication is your specialty, Jack. It’s time to put the country at ease.
    Jack noticed the tissues in his collar in the window’s reflection. He fished them out from his shirt and cracked the Oval’s seal.
    Peter Devon didn’t flinch. He merely moved his wrist to his mouth.
    “Devon has POTUS outside the Oval, en route to Rose Garden.”
    Jack walked a few steps to where Simon Shilling was standing. Simon turned to receive the president of the United States.
    “Are you ready, Mr. President?” Simon asked. Jack nodded. “Blake wanted me to remind you to stay on message. I told him that you were going to come out wearing a gas mask for effect. The kid nearly had a heart attack.”
    Jack chuckled, which quelled the butterflies in his stomach. Jack and his chief of staff walked shoulder to shoulder along the portico with Peter Devon and two other members of the Secret Service a few paces behind them. As the flashbulbs began popping in the early morning light, Jack wondered what clever euphemisms the White House press core would use to tie the attacks in with his name.
    Butcher cuts deep with nuclear device