An anchorman’s face appeared on the screen, and it looked as if he were about to make a joke when his face turned somber. “I’ve just been told there has been a second explosion in a trash receptacle,” he said. “This one in Georgetown on the C and O Canal path. There are no apparent injuries, but the blast has alarmed businesses and homeowners in the area. A bomb disposal unit is en route to the scene, and police have roped off the area and urged people to stay away from the canal path. Bomb-sniffing dogs are being sent in to search for other devices that may be hidden in trash cans by the canal.”
The anchorman paused and then said, “A third explosion has been reported. This one in a trash can at Hains Point. I repeat, this is the third confirmed report of an explosion in a trash can. We have been told that the chief of police, the National Park Service, Homeland Security, and the mayor have agreed to hold an emergency meeting, but, once again, it is not believed that this is a terrorist attack. There have been no injuries because of the explosions, which the police have stressed are more like giant firecrackers than they are bombs. The purpose of the explosions, according to one fire department official, was to make a loud noise, destroy the containers, and burn whatever was inside them-rather than to injure persons or cause property damage. One source speculated that this could be a misguided prank by someone who understands basic chemistry and simply wanted to do something to frighten this city.”
Because Battery Kemble Park was more isolated, it took a few more minutes before the fourth blast made the news. When the anchorman announced it, Toppers said aloud, “They’re destroying the money.”
The bartender and several customers gave her curious glances.
“Let’s go,” Storm said, gently taking her elbow and maneuvering her through the crowd that was now congregating around the bar’s television.
By the time that they reached the terminal’s exit, Toppers looked terrified.
“This was a mistake,” she said. “Something horrible is going to happen to Matthew. I just know it!”
Chapter Ten
Storm and Toppers went directly from Union Station to Senator Windslow’s SOB. Agent April Showers was already there. So were Senator Windslow and his distraught wife, Gloria, who was crying in her husband’s arms.
“We found Matthew Dull,” Showers said quietly.
“Is he okay? Where is he?” Toppers asked.
Then she realized why his mother was in tears. Toppers gasped and whispered, “Oh my God!” She collapsed on the floor. Storm helped her to the couch, and Gloria hurried over to hug her. The two women held each other and sobbed.
“His body was found floating in the Anacostia River,” Showers said.
“Executed?” Storm asked.
Before Showers could reply, Gloria turned on them.
“You two were supposed to keep my son alive! I trusted you!” she shrieked.
Senator Windslow stepped between his angry wife and the targets of her fury. “It would be better if you two left us alone for right now,” he said.
Both started to leave, but the senator asked Storm to stay behind for a moment. When he did, Windslow leaned in close to his ear so that neither his wife nor Toppers could hear what he was whispering.
“What the hell happened?” he asked. “I saw the news flash. Why did you let those bastards blow up my money?”
“Later, Senator,” Storm replied.
“Easy for you to say. You just didn’t have six million bucks blown to pieces.”
Agent Showers was waiting to ambush Storm in the hallway outside Windslow’s office.
“You went behind my back,” she said, her eyes ablaze. “We might have been able to save that kid if we’d worked together. The shit is going to hit the fan when the media finds out that Matthew Dull is dead.”
Continuing her tirade, she said, “You need to tell me what the hell happened after you ditched my men in that parking garage on K Street this afternoon.”
“Are you arresting me?”
He already knew the answer. Jedidiah Jones would not allow Storm to be arrested. Or interrogated. Survival of the fittest. Jones would not permit it because it would tie him and the Agency to this mess.
“Not yet,” she snapped. “But if you don’t come with me right now to headquarters and tell me what happened-I am going to recommend to my superiors that you be arrested.”
She was bluffing. He knew it.
“I’m not going with you,” Storm said quietly. “I have more important things to do.”
He wanted to tell her, but he was not yet ready. There were still a few pieces that he needed to gather.
“I hope you have a damn good lawyer,” Showers said, “because I’m going to nail your ass to the wall.”
Now she was beginning to irritate him.
“Since you mentioned it, what do you think of my ass, Agent Showers?” he asked. “Most women like it.”
For a moment, he thought she might actually slap him. Instead, she walked away enraged, her three-inch heels smacking the marble floor like a stick beating a snare drum.
Showers finally got it. She understood that he was right. She knew that she was on the bottom of the totem pole. She was in line to become the scapegoat, the fall guy, the weakest link. It wasn’t fair, but it was what would happen. What she still didn’t seem to realize was that Storm was the only person who could save her.
Chapter Eleven
The J. Edgar Hoover Building on Pennsylvania Avenue was considered such an architectural eyesore after it opened that there had been talk for years about demolishing it and moving the FBI’s headquarters into the suburbs. Hoover, himself, had reportedly bullied the architects into adding several unusual safeguards to the building’s boxy design. At the time, race riots were rocking Washington and other major cities, and 1960s antiwar protestors were threatening the tear down the “establishment.” Fearing the FBI building might come under siege, Hoover demanded that the street level of his new headquarters be constructed without any windows or offices. Built of concrete mixed with crushed limestone for extra strength, the first level resembled a castle wall. It protected an open mezzanine where there were a limited number of elevators leading to the upper floors. There was no second floor. Instead, the second level was an ugly open gap with only structural supports and reinforced elevator shafts and stairways linking the ground and third floors. The second floor was missing to deter rioters from using ladders to scale the building. At one point, rumors surfaced that Hoover had put razor wire in the branches of the trees that lined Pennsylvania Avenue outside his building to stop attackers from climbing them to reach the headquarters’ upper floors.
It was two days after the trash can explosions had alarmed the city and Matthew Dull’s body had been found floating in the river. Storm was sitting alone in a conference room on the FBI headquarters sixth-floor, waiting for Agent Showers. In an upside-down move that would have been unthinkable in any major city except for Washington, D.C., Storm had come to the headquarters today-not to be questioned-but to interrogate Agent Showers.
Things had played out much as Storm had anticipated. Within minutes after Dull’s corpse had been found, Jedidiah Jones had started pulling strings. FBI Director Jackson had guaranteed Jones that Storm would remain invisible and untouchable-at least for now. Senator Windslow had circled the wagons around Samantha Toppers.
Agent April Showers had been stonewalled.
At a news conference held on the morning after Dull’s body was found, an FBI spokesperson told reporters that the senator’s stepson had been kidnapped, held for ransom, and murdered, apparently by a foreign gang. The spokesman said Senator Windslow had cooperated fully with the FBI during the tragedy. The lead investigator on the case, Special Agent April Showers, had been removed from the investigation and was going to be reassigned to a field job.