All of that flashed through Kealey’s brain as a new mental file was opened: D.C. in panic mode. He would always remember those details and would be able to apply them to any other city on the planet. Even if it was a place he had never been, he would know at once whether something was wrong.
“Helluva signal you worked out, Mr. Kealey,” Homeland Security director Max Carlson said.
“Thanks. This morning I didn’t even know what a user hashtag was.”
There were knowing chuckles around the table. Kealey could tell that many of those present still didn’t.
“How are Allison and the boy?” Andrews asked.
“Battered but unharmed.”
“And Julie?”
Kealey made a face. He didn’t feel it was his place to say. “Alive,” was all he volunteered.
“Did you see Jon at the hospital?” Andrews asked.
Kealey shook his head. “He was running toward the chopper while I was being shown to an SUV.”
All the conversation danced wide of the reason they were here. No one wanted to discuss the attack or Kealey’s perspectives without the president in attendance. It was bad form; even a lame duck could ask for the resignation of a department head.
The president emerged from the Executive Conference Room with Jeff Dryfoos. Kealey went to rise, but Brenneman motioned him to stay where he was. The secretary of state departed, a leather case under his arm, and the president sat. He gestured to nearly empty plates of sandwiches in the middle of the conference table.
“Help yourself,” he said.
Kealey was hungry. He obliged, placing a turkey wrap on a small ceramic plate and pulling it toward him.
“Thanks for coming,” the president said. “Great work you did tonight. Everyone appreciates it.”
It never sat quite right, having a body count referred to as “great work.” Not that those guys at the convention center didn’t deserve to die. It was just one of those actions that seemed to merit reflection, not a pat on the back. Besides, there wasn’t a field agent alive who would feel in his or her heart that this was a job well done. The trick was to take the bastards out before they killed anyone.
Kealey thanked the president, anyway.
“Mr. Dryfoos is off to see some consuls general with fingerprints,” the president said. “Bob, did you tell Ryan what we have?”
“Not yet, sir,” Andrews said. He turned to Kealey.
“Eastern Europeans and Middle Eastern perps,” Kealey said to save time. “INS confirms they were here legally.”
It was as though someone had dropped a quilt on the room. No one spoke or moved for an eternity of seconds.
“Yeah,” Andrews said at last.
“Not a big solve on my part,” Kealey said. “I heard the languages, and you don’t coordinate something this big with so many nationalities unless they’ve been on-site for a while. Planners couldn’t risk even one illegal being turned up in an operation of this size.”
The silence returned.
“This might be a good time for you to tell us what else you know,” the president suggested.
“One question first, sir,” Kealey said. “Has anyone taken credit for the attacks?”
“Not yet,” Andrews said.
“Has anyone denied being behind the attacks?” Kealey asked, pressing.
Andrews shook his head. It was a gesture of admiration, not denial. “We were discussing that just before you arrived. The usual suspects, al-Qaeda and Hamas, among others, have issued Web statements of approval, but from the sidelines. They’ve all made a point of saying they had no operational involvement in this.”
“Because they’re all basically cowards and fear reprisals,” said someone sitting across the table. He was Admiral Donald Breen, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Kealey could tell he hadn’t been here long; his uniform wasn’t wrinkled.
No one disagreed with his assessment.
“It’s more than that, Admiral,” Kealey said.
“Oh?”
Andrews put a hand on Kealey’s wrist. Obviously, the CIA director had figured it out, too, and felt it would go down better coming from him.
“That kind of distancing from multiple groups tells us that whoever planned this attack is a major new player,” Kealey said. “If the other groups know who it was, then they do not want to claim credit for the accomplishment out of respect. It’s a way of tipping their hat. If they do not know them, the same rule applies, though for a different reason. Al-Qaeda and the others want to show that they respect the accomplishment in the hopes of being asked to participate in future attacks.”
Admiral Breen nodded thoughtfully. Kealey knew the man only by reputation. He had been appointed by the president because he believed in military solutions as a last resort. That meant hearing, and exhausting, all other opinions first.
“So we’re agreed that we probably have a new mega-player on the scene?” the president asked. “Mr. Kealey?”
He nodded gravely. “People don’t just rig themselves with explosive devices, infiltrate two major weekend events, and carry MP5K assault weapons without serious funding, preparation, and support.”
“I’d go a step further and say it’s unprecedented,” Carlson added.
“Do we know anything about the kind of explosives they used?” Kealey asked.
“Preliminary field analysis of the residue indicates both C-four and Semtex,” Carlson told him.
“Suggesting diverse sources,” Kealey said. “One of them gets closed down, they still have another. What about their physical construction?”
“The one in the ballroom appears to have been a briefcase bomb, and the individual who blew himself up in the hotel wore an explosive belt. We’re not sure of the third, the one inside the food area.”
“I saw that area myself,” Kealey said. “It was totaled. That’s where Colin Dearborn was. I asked him about it before I left. He said it was a massive white blast.”
“Magnesium component,” Andrews said.
Kealey nodded. “Right. The only reason he survived, and without so much as a scratch, was because he leaned against a column to tweet.”
“Max, is the magnesium significant?” the president asked. He was careful to pitch that one to Homeland Security. With Andrews and Kealey present, he clearly didn’t want this to become too much of a CIA show.
“Burns,” Carlson said. “In powdered form it becomes and remains extremely hot. In addition to shrapnel, it’s a way of ramping up the pain and damage.”
The president shook his head. He looked tired to Kealey-not today, but generally-yet at the same time he seemed more focused and energized than in the old days.
“Mr. President, while you were out, we picked up some intel,” Sandy Mathis said.
“Go ahead,” Brenneman said, swiveling his chair slightly.
Kealey turned toward the video monitor. He had noticed that it was on but hadn’t really paid any attention. Kealey did not know this man by name or reputation.
“A bartender at the Hilton came forward with information about a man named Michael, or so the individual claimed,” Mathis said. “Thirtyish, blue sports jacket, white shirt, dark pants. He’d stopped in a short while before the explosions, ordered an iced tea. He was carrying a briefcase and said that he was an attendee of Julie’s nursing conference. According to the bartender, he was sweating, flushed. Nervous was the word the bartender used.”