Precious metal current and future orders skyrocketed.
Jack Riley didn’t follow the financial chaos. He was too busy trying to manage his own. He knew the sword of Damocles was hanging over Homeland Security’s head — no, that was a dodge. It was his head. With his appointment, he immediately ordered the NTSB and the FBI to maintain a central investigation point in Milwaukee. That way, they could all track this mysterious bomber-terrorist on the first of two trails. Per the president’s directive, Riley needed to reinforce the fact that, in no uncertain terms, he was in charge. Not the FBI, not FEMA, not state or local authorities, and certainly not the NTSB. It came down to him, period. Riley believed that a good leader should use methodical means and feather ruffling, especially with investigative legwork. Criminal science and theory were fine, but nothing could beat the kind of information a tough, smart cop could squeeze from witnesses and suspects.
The government had commandeered nearly the entire hotel, and Riley had a suite transformed into his personal workspace. With respect to décor, he ordered that a 20 x 24 inch framed photograph be brought in from his Washington office. Captured off Duck Key, it was a photo of the ocean’s glass-like surface at slack tide. He had been about to snap the sunset when something made a noise on the side of the boat. A tail-flapping, taunting noise. When he peered into the water, he saw Shaitan looking up at him in some sort of direct challenge. The photo clearly showed the size and ugliness of the monster — complete with its gaping, hook-lined mouth. Each time Riley looked at his nemesis, it renewed his determination to have the ultimate fish fry.
Riley’s cell phone chirped.
“Jack, I just want to recommit my support,” Secretary Bridge’s voice said. “If you need anything from any department or agency within the US Government, you’ve got it. If anyone balks or says the word no, then I want a phone call, understood?”
“Sir, I’m still not convinced that I’m the right person for this. I don’t think that the president realizes what’s involved. I’m not exactly comfortable telling seasoned federal agents how and when to do their jobs. The FBI is funny that way.”
“Since when is Jack Riley uncomfortable with anything?” Bridge asked. “Director Colmes was kind enough to suggest a good right-hand man, someone who can help you keep the investigation on track.”
“The investigation or me?”
“Whatever the reasoning, he’s supposed to be one of the Bureau’s best, not to mention you could use a good sounding board. He’s from their Investigative Training Unit at Quantico. But more important, he knows agency politics. His name is David Cheng.”
“We’ve already connected,” Riley said. “He’s agreed to head up the ground investigation in Milwaukee.”
“You’ll do fine, Jack. Use your instincts.”
“I still don’t understand why the president wants Homeland Security in charge of such a high-profile investigation. I can name at least a dozen senior FBI people who could handle it. I’m missing something.”
“Precisely because you are Homeland Security,” Bridge answered. “The president wants to show the country and the world how effective his administration can be in combating terror on America’s soil. He has the utmost faith in you because of your outstanding qualifications. He’s told me more than once that he likes you, and—”
“I don’t buy that,” Riley interrupted the patronizing. “Tell me the truth.”
There was silence. “It’s a prelude.”
“A prelude to what?”
“Consolidation.”
Riley shifted the phone. “I’m not following.”
“Jack, remember Hurricane Katrina? What were the lessons we learned?”
“Not to build cities below sea level,” he answered flatly.
“I mean relative to the federal government’s structure and culture, particularly in a national crisis. We exposed the worst of ourselves, and I want to see if you agree.”
“If you’re talking about selective response and rescue based on ethnicity or race, then I don’t agree.”
“Jack, no informed person believes that. It’s bureaucracy. We showed the world how miserable we were at coordinating and communicating with our own internal agencies. As a direct result of that exposed failure, the president developed a plan that will shake the federal government to its foundations. It’ll involve the largest single reorganization in US government history. Agencies that have existed for over a hundred years will be eliminated, and their functions will be merged. The code name for the new singularity is DNS, Department of National Security. Anyone in the federal government who carries a weapon, investigates a crime, or defends our nation against an enemy or threat will be impacted. And by the way, threats include man-made terrorist acts and natural disasters like hurricanes.
“During Katrina, FEMA and especially Homeland Security looked like bumbling idiots. The media filmed human horrors that we never knew existed. While people were literally dying in the streets, our fire and rescue teams were sitting in diversity sensitivity meetings. We don’t want anyone to put us through that kind of embarrassment again.
“Your appointment on this case is simply a prelude. The president wants to use the outcome of your actions — the successful outcome — to serve as a showcase on how multiple agencies can and should work together permanently, not just during a crisis. In other words, it’s a working model that paves the way for interagency cooperation.”
“You mean kills it,” Riley said.
“That’s a true statement, Jack. There won’t be interagencies. They’ll all be the same organization.”
Riley shook his head. Senior government managers were always reorganizing something. All federal law enforcement personnel working in one seamless entity? It made too much sense. It also placed an even greater burden on him and his investigation. He didn’t like being a public guinea pig. He knew what was coming next. He even mouthed the words.
“Do you have any leads?” Bridge asked. “Anything at all?”
“No, sir. The FBI… er, my teams are still forming up here.”
“What about resources? Do you need any more bod—?”
“Thank you, but we have enough people. I’m about to have a kickoff session. We’ll be covering every possible avenue.”
“Do you need anything? Anything at all?”
Riley paused. “I want someone from NTSB on my lead team. I wanted you to know up front in case it causes any problems over there.”
“It won’t,” Bridge assured. He didn’t know Tom Ross, but it didn’t matter. “What else?”
Riley took a deep breath. “I need to bring someone from the media inside. A reporter.” He held the phone away from his ear.
There was extended silence. “For what reason?”
Riley explained.
“Good thinking, Jack,” Bridge agreed. “Is that all?”
“If you said a few introductory words to my teams, it might help reinforce the fact that we’re in charge of this thing and not the FBI.”
“You can handle it. I like your idea of splitting things by airport, but I still want all reporting to come through you.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep you informed. There is one more thing. I’m curious about the president’s singularity plan. What happens to the military?”
“Simple. The first and foremost question that will determine if you belong in the Department of National Security is… do you carry a weapon? Obviously, the answer is yes. All four branches of the military will integrate. Common commanders, common bases, perhaps even common uniforms. Everything is on the table. I’ll bring you up to speed on some other facets, but we need to get through this first. Good luck, Jack.”