“But don’t miss the point, people. Americans are resilient, and we would no doubt grow stronger. This isn’t a forever thing. Time would heal the effects of even mass carnage, but by then the damage would have been done in a beautiful and complete fashion. How long can any business survive after losing an entire generation of customers? The US economy would flirt with the country’s second depression primarily because people would be in an extended state of shock and fear. And for those of you who need financial gravitas, we hired the Cato Institute to model the economic impacts.
“Relative to Ms. Petri’s statements on the strength and resiliency of our financial markets, she’s right on point. All I’m suggesting is that we not get complacent with our open freedoms. I won’t bore you with details, but after the events of K-Day, the Dow Jones Industrial Average would snowball downhill for thirteen consecutive months. That’ll make the 401(k) pain caused by the housing collapse seem like Christmas. We call it the Komodo Effect. This small, slow, but dangerous reptile waits in ambush for prey many times its size. With a single bite, infection starts immediately, and is always fatal.”
Petri rose from her seat. “Mr. Riley, point taken. But I certainly don’t have any more time to sit here listening to speculative, rambling propaganda about lizards. You of all people should put a little more faith in our homeland security defenses, sir. If you’ll excuse me?”
Flanked by two aides, she stormed out.
A man in the front row spoke a word under his breath. Riley strolled over and peered at his ID badge.
“I agree with you, Mr. Tom Ross of NTSB Aviation Engineering. It is unbelievable. You’re an airline guy. Tell us about the skies and what you think about our open freedoms. Are we vulnerable or not?”
“Well, first, I’m not TSA,” Ross announced the point loudly. “So I don’t have my finger on the pulse of air travel security if that’s what you’re asking. Second, Nancy… er, Ms. Petri offered some good points. Frankly, if it was your objective to scare us today, I’d say you accomplished that. It’s true we’re all seeing more stringent security rules being implemented for electronic devices on planes, especially for passengers traveling to the United States.”
“And why is that, sir?” Riley surveyed the audience. “What are they looking for, people? It starts with a B.”
“Bombs,” a female voice responded.
“Yep.” Riley nodded. “Carried on and undetectable. It’s like an addiction. They’re still trying to sneak explosives on aircraft. One of so many potential vulnerabilities.”
Riley gave Secretary Bridge a stealthy glance and noticed him glance at his watch. Riley returned to the podium and tucked Shaitan under his arm. “I’d like to end things here and leave you with one final albeit sickening thought: if any of the K-Day terrorists are captured and found to be American citizens, they’ll be eligible for constitutionally afforded defenses. And you can bet that we’ll vehemently try and enforce those rights. Good grief, it took four years to convict Major Nidal Hasan for the mass killings at Fort Hood. That miserable son-of-a… er, individual admitted he murdered thirteen people, and we’ll be feeding him breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day on appeal for the next fifty years.”
Riley glanced at his watch. “No part of this presentation is confidential. In fact, Komodo needs to be shown and publicized to as many people as possible. But, as you just observed, that’s a tall order, especially when entrenched bureaucrats have their heads stuck up their… well, in the sand.
“They don’t want to know. Why? Because they don’t believe in taking either preemptive or drastic measures to stop potential threats. They claim it tramples on the Constitution. Many don’t have the funds to do anything about it anyway, even from a planning perspective.
“Secretary Bridge and the president have already listened to my ‘scare tactics’—twice. It’s one of their top priorities. Needless to say, they’re already receiving plenty of heat from people who share the congresswoman’s opinion that I’m indeed crazy and that such events could never happen. Just the other day, five thousand law enforcement officers in San Francisco went on alert after someone saw a suspicious rubber boat puttering around the Golden Gate Bridge.
“Anyway, I’ll be at the Martin Luther King Federal Building in Atlanta on May 11 and the Peck Building in Cincinnati on May 18. If you have contacts in those offices, I’d appreciate it if you’d give them some feedback. My video should be finished by then. It’s free.
“My best advice to you today? Be safe, be alert, and start thinking about the unthinkable. And since Congresswoman Petri brought it up, I’ll say one more thing about top-notch security and trusting your family’s freedom and safety to state-of-the-art equipment: Six Flags Great America at Gurnee, Illinois, has an employee entrance with no detection equipment at all. It’s staffed by a seventy-year-old security guard named Fritz. He’s had two knee replacements, and he’s addicted to caramel corn. Have a safe day.”
Chapter 7
Georgia Tech Professor Michael Robertson stood up from a kneeling position in front of the commode. He was in the men’s restroom at the Sheraton Roma Conference Center. He braced himself inside the stall until everything stopped spinning.
He listened quietly, almost able to hear echoes bouncing off the red-black marble walls. It was both humorous and frightening that a forty-year-old human being could make such outrageous noises. Thankfully, he was alone.
Noting the pungent smell on his breath and hands, he twisted the door latch and gingerly made his way to the sinks. His face was still warm, and his heartbeat was elevated, but his gag reflex had slowed, indicating that for the moment what little was left in his stomach had opted to stay.
He swished a mouthful of water from cheek to cheek and spit. He envisioned the lead story in the Atlanta Constitution: “Hometown Finalist Pukes at Pirelli International Technology Awards Ceremony.”
Didn’t that happen to someone else at a foreign banquet? he wondered. Yes. President George Bush Sr. Right next to the Japanese Prime Minister. Wonderful.
The scarlet towel draped over Robertson’s shoulders made him look like an escapee from some princely barbershop. He patted his face with more water and examined the outline of his month-old beard. It had filled in nicely. His wife was right — he did look more European. Every little bit helped.
Robertson folded the towel and then his hands. He wasn’t overly religious, but he occasionally chatted with the Almighty whenever he needed help. This was such a time. “Dear Lord… you know how I feel about winning. In the meantime, please make the food disappear, and please… don’t let me get sick in front of two thousand people and world media. And if I do, then please let it be on the Germans. Amen.”
Robertson returned to the banquet room and his seat at the head table. His entrée had been whisked away.
One prayer answered.
It had started with the appetizer, bread piled with tomatoes and thin-sliced meat soaked in olive oil. He should have known from the stench that something was wrong. Ham wasn’t supposed to be translucent blue. It had obviously outlived an expiration date.