“I’ll do my best.”
“That’s my boy.” Bridge clicked off. He was under as much pressure as Riley, if not more.
Riley collected a set of papers. The Department of National Security, he thought, smirking. The president has gone crazy.
For a moment, Riley actually felt equal measures of calm and confidence. Then something slapped the back of his head. It was a wakeup slap given by someone who wanted his full attention. His father, Robert Jackson Riley, had passed away five years ago. A high school business-education teacher and wrestling coach, Robert had left an indelible mark. Though he was a stern disciplinarian, the rap to his son’s head wasn’t meant to hurt; it was meant to remind.
Don’t let anyone ever call you “boy.”
Riley walked into an adjoining room where the Homeland Security and FBI senior team leads were seated. A simulcast teleconference on an eighty-inch flat screen linked the room with an FBI site at the Hilton next to O’Hare’s main terminals.
Riley spoke into the camera. “Good morning. I don’t need to remind everyone that the president and America are depending on us to make a rapid impact in finding the perpetrator or perpetrators who committed these vicious acts. To say that we’re in the spotlight is an asinine understatement. I’ll reiterate what Secretary Bridge told me a few moments ago: if you or any of your agents encounter resistance from either a private or a governmental jurisdiction, I want to know. And I mean that. You can contact me anytime, day or night, with anything of interest or relevance, or to report roadblocks to these investigations. With respect to chain of command, my personal likes and dislikes, and my leadership style, let me say that I hold each of you and your people in the highest professional regard. I expect progress, and I like to see things for myself. Be advised: I will take a hands-on approach. That simply means I’ll be on-site whenever I can. I dislike weasels, blamers, excessive paperwork, good ol’ boy cliques, and people who don’t take responsibility. And if you ever lie to me, I’ll throw you out on your tail. I expect cooperative teamwork. Special Agent Cheng will cover for me when I’m unavailable. Treat him as you would me.
“One more thing regarding my position here before we get started. The president appointed me, and I realize that it may rub some of you the wrong way. I have one thing to say about that: this is an interagency mission, so get over it. It’s not about you or me or careers; it’s about freedom. Whoever committed these crimes will be found and brought to justice. I will work tirelessly for this country, and I expect that same energy and ethic from you. That said, let me share our strategy.”
Tom Ross entered the room. Riley whispered a few words before continuing.
“I expect each of you to read and become fully aware of the tactics used in the 2006 London transatlantic aviation terror cell operation. It includes twenty-one background dossiers and the types of accelerants they planned to use to destroy ten aircraft. London’s Anti-Terror Branch calls it a summary, but it’s still four hundred pages. Pay special attention to sections ten and eleven, ‘In-Flight Pre-Detonation Placements’ and ‘Explosive Containers.’ The summary is a separate and accessible module that has been added to your Virtual Case File Network. And speaking of virtual, we’re going to establish coverage zones for the Mitchell International and O’Hare Airports respectively and then assign teams. The first zone is the inside perimeter. Both Delta and United’s CEOs have personally assured me of total cooperation from their employees. Let’s start with Mitchell’s team structures. Checked baggage. I want a face matched to every piece. Who’s reviewing security videos?”
“I am,” FBI agent Derrick Gale spoke up from across the room. “We already have Mitchell’s tapes. I’ll have O’Hare’s by this afternoon.”
“Who’s handling carry-ons?”
“Will Clark.”
“Perimeter security?”
“Nelson Bennett.”
“Customer service personnel?”
“That’d be Agent Cortez. His teams are covering rampers, agents, baggage tugs, wing walkers, fuelers, and caterers. If he needs help, my people can assist.”
“Good.” Riley nodded and returned to his list. “Anyone else?”
“Mechanics.”
Riley thumbed through a Delta contact list. “John Louter, VP of Maintenance Operations. Has anyone contacted him?”
“Patricia Creed. She’s one of the NTSB’s investigators. She’s started an interrogation list and has already had some problems.”
“What problems?” Riley demanded, vaguely recalling the name.
“Some of the mechanics have a real attitude about talking to the government. They’ve got an inherent fear of having their tickets… er, licenses pulled. They’re afraid of being thrown in airport jail. It’s some kind of union thing.”
“You tell Ms. Creed to keep pushing. I want hard interviews with every one of the people who either touched that aircraft or were on duty at Mitchell preflight. If anyone acts suspiciously, mentions constitutional rights, or balks at questioning, I want to know. Anything else?”
“Sir, with respect to reporting hierarchy, what exactly is the FBI’s role here? I’d rather not have any conflicting orders from our side of the chain.”
Riley’s first instinct was to slam his hand on the table, but he caught himself.
“There won’t be any conflicts. I know this is new, and you may have to shift your thinking. This is, first and foremost, a national security investigation headed by the Department of Homeland Security. The FBI is taking the lead at O’Hare, and their progress will be reported to me. That goes for the NTSB too. The gentleman sitting next to me is Tom Ross, their man in charge. His findings at each of the crash sites will also become instantaneously available to this team. We’ll have centralized, accessible information — no overlap, no confrontations, and no media leaks. Everything comes through me. Let’s move to the outside perimeter. Mr. Cheng?”
A lean Chinese-American with a drawn face and a marathon runner’s physique strolled to a whiteboard. He inserted a marker into an electronic sleeve and drew out a rectangular sketch. The image was visible on a receiving board at the O’Hare site.
“Mitchell International Airport covers seven square miles. There are 274 private businesses operating on the perimeter. The investigative boundaries will start at the airport property and stretch outward one mile in all directions. Our objective is to literally flood the area with bodies and interviews.
“We have confirmed that our perpetrator was in the area when he made that the cell phone call. My people will visit every building, restaurant, gas station, office, and residence within two square miles of the originating cell tower. If our caller was sitting in a car on a side street along an airport boundary, then someone saw him.
“We have seventy-three federal agents assigned to the street. Milwaukee’s mayor has offered as many local detectives as we need to supplement the ground coverage.” Cheng sat down.
Riley nodded. “I want the local and national media to see us tripping over each other. We need to scare up some information. Okay, personnel assigned to Mitchell International are released. Let’s move on to O’Hare.”
Chapter 29
Akil placed his ID back in his wallet and recited a reference number to a young female clerk in a Check Advance Service Center.
“You can have a seat, sir, while I process this. How would you like the cash?”