London Bridges

bridge look rather delicate. Up close, the real power of the structure was revealed: the massive trusses; rivets as large as a man’s kneecaps.
    This sounded crazy, but it would work—his piece would work.
    Sometimes he wondered how he’d gotten so sour on everything, so bitter and full of rage. Hell, years ago in the Marines he’d been part of the rescue team that had extracted downed pilots like Scott O’Grady in Bosnia. Well, he wasn’t a war hero anymore. He was just another capitalist working in the system, right? And that was a lot truer statement than most people could let themselves believe.
    As he continued to walk out on the support structure, Capistran couldn’t help humming, then singing the words, “Groovy. Feeling very groovy.”

Chapter 55
    THE STRANGEST, most puzzling thing happened next.
    The deadline passed—and nothing happened.
    There was no message from the Wolf, no immediate attacks. Nothing.
Silence.
It was eerie, but also incredibly scary.
    The Wolf was the only one who knew what was going on now—or maybe, the Wolf, the president, and a few other world leaders. Rumor had it that the president, vice president, and the cabinet had already been moved out of Washington.
    This thing wouldn’t stop, would it? The news stories certainly wouldn’t. The
Post,
the
New York Times, USA Today,
CNN, the networks—they had all gotten hold of some version of the threats against major cities. No one knew
which
cities, or who was doing the threatening. But after years of yellow and orange alerts from Homeland Security, no one seemed to take the threats and rumors too seriously.
    The uncertainty, the war of nerves had to be part of the Wolf’s plan, too. I was in Washington for the Memorial Day weekend, and was asleep when I got a call to get over to the Hoover Building right away.
    I looked at the alarm clock, squinting to focus, saw that it was three in the morning.
Now what? Have there been reprisals?
If so, they weren’t telling me over the phone.
    “I’ll be right there,” I said, pushing myself out of bed, cursing under my breath. I showered under hot, then cold water for a minute or two, toweled off, threw on clothes, and got in the car and drove through Washington in a horrible daze. All I knew was that the Wolf was going to call in thirty minutes.
    Three-thirty in the morning, after a long weekend, with the expired deadline hanging over our head. He wasn’t just controlling, he was sadistic.
    When I arrived at the crisis room on five, there were at least a dozen others already there. We greeted one another like old friends at somebody’s wake. For the next couple of minutes, bleary-eyed agents kept filing into the conference room, nobody seeming completely awake. A ragged line formed at the coffee table as a couple of pots finally arrived. Everybody looked nervous and on edge.
    “No Danish?” said one of the other agents. “Where’s the love?” But nobody even smiled at his joke.
    Director Burns came in a few minutes past 3:30. He was wearing a dark suit and tie, formal for him, but especially at this time of the morning. I had the sense that he didn’t have any idea what was happening, either. The Wolf was in charge, not any of us.
    “And you thought I was a tough boss,” Director Burns cracked after a couple of minutes of silence in the room. Finally, there was a sprinkling of laughter. “Thank you for coming,” Burns added.
    The Wolf came on the line at 3:43. The filtered voice. The characteristic smugness and disdain.
    “You’re probably wondering why I scheduled a meeting in the middle of the night,” he began. “Because I can. How do you like that?
Because I can.
    “In case you haven’t been able to tell, I don’t like you people very much. Not at all, actually. I have my reasons, good ones. I hate everything America stands for. So maybe this is partly about revenge? Maybe you’ve wronged me somewhere, sometime in the past? Maybe you wronged my family. That’s a part of the puzzle. Revenge is a sweet bonus for me.
    “But let me get to the present. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think I instructed you not to conduct any more investigations into my whereabouts.
    “So what do you do? You bust six poor bastards in downtown Manhattan because you suspect they’re working with me. Why, one poor girl was so distraught that she went out a third-floor window.
I saw her fall!
I suppose that your thinking—such as it is—was that if you took out my operatives