Harris ran his hand over his shaved head and grimaced. “No. We’ve got our list of possibles. I believe they were sent over to you about an hour ago.”
“We got it,” the Justice Department representative said, “and we’re distributing it to state attorneys general. They’ll disseminate to local law enforcement in their states.”
“The president is concerned that local cops don’t start fingering individuals or groups just because they’re of a certain ethnic persuasion,” Cammanati said. “Racial or ethnic profiling big-time.”
“We’re worried about that, too,” Harris said, “but there’s not much we can do about it short of taking control of every police department in the country.”
Harris turned to the CIA representative at the meeting. “Want to tell us, Sam, what progress, if any, your people are making with foreign terrorist organizations?”
“It’s all input at this point,” he said. “We’ve been keeping tabs on the leading groups for years, but no intelligence has come through pointing to any single one as a prime suspect. We’re working every group we can, Sheik Abdel-Rahman’s followers, the mujahideen, the Islamic Jihad, Hamas, the Muslim Brotherhood, the Algerian groups, El Noure, Bachir Hannaqui, the FIS, Osama bin Laden. Nothing tangible yet.”
“We’ve got a major problem,” the FAA’s emissary said.
All eyes went to him.
“This is raising hell with the airlines. Passengers are canceling left and right, domestically and internationally. They’re facing—the airlines—an economic disaster of unprecedented proportions. And it would be even worse if these missile throwers had hit a heavy, a 747 or—”
“Can’t say I blame those passengers,” the assistant attorney general said. “I’m flying to New York later today on one of those puddle jumpers and I’m not looking forward to it.”
The FAA rep ignored him. “The point is, as long as there’s a nut out there with some sort of homemade rocket launcher—”
“Three nuts,” someone corrected.
“One nut, three nuts, thirty, it doesn’t make any difference. Those responsible had better be brought to justice before we have a crippled airline industry.”
NTSB’s Peter Mullin silently thought that the FAA spokesman was acting true to form, more concerned with the airline industry’s economic health than what his agency was charged with, keeping the skies safe for the millions of passengers who depended on it.
“The missiles,” the attendee from Justice said. “They were Russian? Chinese? Homemade?”
“Unofficially Russian,” Harris said. “Weapons men from Wright Patterson in Ohio and the Naval Air Warfare Center in California are on their way to work with the Pentagon’s weapons guys.”
The meeting accomplished little, as far as State’s Colonel Barton was concerned. No one seemed to have an inkling of who might have been behind the missile attacks, and judging from the comments made by the people in the room, there wasn’t any breakthrough on the horizon. Still, he reminded himself as he left with the others to return to his office at State, it had been only a day since the three planes fell from the sky, hardly time to build a case against anyone or any group without a voluntary, prideful confession.
The FBI’s Harris and National Security Advisor Cammanati stayed behind. When they were alone in the room, Harris pulled two pieces of paper from a briefcase at his feet and laid them in front of Cammanati. Cammanati picked up the first and read it over half-glasses.
“SA-7 Grail—9M32—Shoulder-fired surface-to-air missile—Entered Soviet service in 1966—Optical sight—IR seeker activated after sighting—Four feet long—20 pounds—Range 45 to 5,600 m—Speed, Mach 1.95—2.5 kg high-explosive fragmentation warhead, 5½ pounds.”
Cammanati laid the paper down and looked at Harris. “There’s no question about this?” he said.
Harris shook his head. “The Pentagon
“We got it,” the Justice Department representative said, “and we’re distributing it to state attorneys general. They’ll disseminate to local law enforcement in their states.”
“The president is concerned that local cops don’t start fingering individuals or groups just because they’re of a certain ethnic persuasion,” Cammanati said. “Racial or ethnic profiling big-time.”
“We’re worried about that, too,” Harris said, “but there’s not much we can do about it short of taking control of every police department in the country.”
Harris turned to the CIA representative at the meeting. “Want to tell us, Sam, what progress, if any, your people are making with foreign terrorist organizations?”
“It’s all input at this point,” he said. “We’ve been keeping tabs on the leading groups for years, but no intelligence has come through pointing to any single one as a prime suspect. We’re working every group we can, Sheik Abdel-Rahman’s followers, the mujahideen, the Islamic Jihad, Hamas, the Muslim Brotherhood, the Algerian groups, El Noure, Bachir Hannaqui, the FIS, Osama bin Laden. Nothing tangible yet.”
“We’ve got a major problem,” the FAA’s emissary said.
All eyes went to him.
“This is raising hell with the airlines. Passengers are canceling left and right, domestically and internationally. They’re facing—the airlines—an economic disaster of unprecedented proportions. And it would be even worse if these missile throwers had hit a heavy, a 747 or—”
“Can’t say I blame those passengers,” the assistant attorney general said. “I’m flying to New York later today on one of those puddle jumpers and I’m not looking forward to it.”
The FAA rep ignored him. “The point is, as long as there’s a nut out there with some sort of homemade rocket launcher—”
“Three nuts,” someone corrected.
“One nut, three nuts, thirty, it doesn’t make any difference. Those responsible had better be brought to justice before we have a crippled airline industry.”
NTSB’s Peter Mullin silently thought that the FAA spokesman was acting true to form, more concerned with the airline industry’s economic health than what his agency was charged with, keeping the skies safe for the millions of passengers who depended on it.
“The missiles,” the attendee from Justice said. “They were Russian? Chinese? Homemade?”
“Unofficially Russian,” Harris said. “Weapons men from Wright Patterson in Ohio and the Naval Air Warfare Center in California are on their way to work with the Pentagon’s weapons guys.”
The meeting accomplished little, as far as State’s Colonel Barton was concerned. No one seemed to have an inkling of who might have been behind the missile attacks, and judging from the comments made by the people in the room, there wasn’t any breakthrough on the horizon. Still, he reminded himself as he left with the others to return to his office at State, it had been only a day since the three planes fell from the sky, hardly time to build a case against anyone or any group without a voluntary, prideful confession.
The FBI’s Harris and National Security Advisor Cammanati stayed behind. When they were alone in the room, Harris pulled two pieces of paper from a briefcase at his feet and laid them in front of Cammanati. Cammanati picked up the first and read it over half-glasses.
“SA-7 Grail—9M32—Shoulder-fired surface-to-air missile—Entered Soviet service in 1966—Optical sight—IR seeker activated after sighting—Four feet long—20 pounds—Range 45 to 5,600 m—Speed, Mach 1.95—2.5 kg high-explosive fragmentation warhead, 5½ pounds.”
Cammanati laid the paper down and looked at Harris. “There’s no question about this?” he said.
Harris shook his head. “The Pentagon
Similar Books
