A Touch of Greed by Gary Ponzo

on the west wall where Fisk was already reaching down and acquiring a cold bottle of water. He handed it to Peterson and watched the doctor take an ample drink.
    Peterson let out a big breath and twisted the cap back onto the bottle. “Thank you.” He looked around the room. “It really is oval, isn’t it?”
    “Yes,” Merrick said. “First time I entered this room, my mouth dried up as well. Are you okay?”
    “Sure,” Peterson said. “Sir, without any data regarding dimensions of the bomb, it will be difficult to give you solid information.”
    “Understood. Maybe you could give me some insight as to the dangers of a typical dirty bomb?”
    “Of course,” Peterson said. “I must tell you, however, the overwhelming majority of these devices don’t carry nearly enough radioactive material to cause major fallout. Because of the nature of this weapon, it’s meant to disperse the radioactive material over a large area rendering its potency rather unproductive.”
    “How so?”
    “Well, a nuclear weapon uses fission to provoke an enormous explosion of radiation, whereas a dirty bomb is normally created with conventional weaponry which then scatters the radioactive material.” Peterson hesitated, glanced at Fisk, then back to Merrick. “Mr. President, do you want my opinion, or do you want just the factual data?”
    “Yes,” Merrick said. “That’s a great point. I want your opinion. That’s why you’re here.”
    “Well, terrorists are normally pursuing an immediate reaction. They want to deliver the most damage in the quickest amount of time. They’re not after the long-term effect of a radioactive spill. I would suggest they are attempting to create more psychological harm than physical damage. Mass panic and terror are normally what they are after.”
    Merrick could see Fisk nodding his head and liking what he was hearing.
    “So, in your opinion, Doctor,” Merrick said, “a dirty bomb wouldn’t carry enough radioactive material to cause major long-term fatalities?”
    “That’s correct, Mr. President. Decontaminating the affected area would require considerable time and expense, but no, I would doubt there would be a cluster of fatalities.”
    Merrick tapped the top of his desk with his index finger. “Okay,” he said. “I think that tells me what I need to know.”
    Peterson got to his feet. “Sir, I don’t want to trivialize the danger involved with a dirty bomb. They are extremely dangerous, especially in a crowded space. Depending on its size, anyone within one hundred yards probably wouldn’t survive such an explosion. But if you could control where it’s detonated, you could contain its fallout.”
    Merrick stood and shook Peterson’s hand. “Thank you again, Doctor. You’ve been a great help.”
    When Peterson left, Fisk took his seat and crossed his legs. “So? Are you feeling better about my suggestion?”
    “You mean your clever tactic of doing nothing?” Merrick said.
    “Ingenious, isn’t it?”
    “What was that explanation of ‘salted’ all about? I know what the fuck ‘salted’ means.”
    “You looked at me like you didn’t know.”
    “I looked at you because I hadn’t heard it used in our conversations with the War Room.”
    “Oh.”
    Merrick picked up his tablet computer and handed it to Fisk. It was opened to a page on the BBC’s website. The headline read, “The United Palestinian Force a New Player in the Terrorist Game.”
    Fisk read through the article with a scowl on his face. When he was finished, he placed it on Merrick’s desk and slid it back to him. “It’s what I’ve been telling you,” he said. “These punks want attention in the worst way. Who do you think was the anonymous source they quoted?”
    Merrick clasped his hands together and tapped his chin. “So how much of a player are they?”
    “Look, it took them eighteen months to get a dirty bomb into Mexico. They paid millions just to get Garza to transport the thing over the